Reign Over the Frosted Heavens
by Meer-Heika
Summary: Bleach/HP xover. Toshiro Hitsugaya learns first-hand the cruel side of Wizarding Britain. Can Harry Potter teach him about the good? Chapter 32 up. Things move fast for Harry and Toshiro. Can they escape?
1. Prologue

**Title: **Reign Over the Frosted Heavens

**Author:** Meer-Heika

**Category:** drama, angst

**Rating:** PG-13 for now, may change

**Summary: **Bleach/HP xover. Toshiro Hitsugaya learns first-hand the cruel side of Wizarding Britain. Can Harry Potter teach him about the good? Dumbledore and Snape fans won't like this one.

**Author's Note #1:** Very much a work in progress. Real Life has a way of throwing a monkey wrench into what little writing time I can find. AU for HP. No Deathly Hallows and most certainly no horcruxes! I love JKR for creating these wondrous characters and environs, but DH's and horcruxes feel convenient and contrived to me.

**Author's Note #2:** My first attempt at Manip!Dumbledore. I'm also new to the Bleach fandom (2 months as of October 29, 2010). I had the privilege of living in Japan for a year, so I am fascinated and impressed by its richness and depth. I hope to do that proud culture justice.

**Author's Note #3:** I heard that sigh! *g* Last one, promise. The first half of this story will occur mostly in the Bleach verse or from a Bleach character's pov. Harry will have more presence in the last half. Takes place starting end of fifth year for Harry and during the lull prior to the Winter War for Bleach, though I had to jack with the timeline a bit.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any recognizable characters or settings from either the Harry Potter or Bleach universes.

Prologue

_Under normal circumstances ... I wouldn't mind the cold. I'd welcome it. Find peace in it. Ice and snow have been my friends for many years. I would never feel fear or despair in their arms. Hyorinmaru is proof of that._

_But this ... this is not the peace found in the pristine blanket of winter's first snow, nor is it the pure, primal, untamed wildness of a cleansing mountain storm. It is not the crystalline beauty of an ice cavern or the mischievous, whispering lure of a frozen lake. This is a gray, sticky, all-pervasive cold, a creeping, malevolent chill that saps both strength and will. That whispers of endless sleep and loss of all hope. It has no place in life._

_Understandable enough, I suppose. It is the chill of approaching death._

_Had I the strength of body, I might laugh at the thought. Here am I, a Shinigami—a Soul Reaper, Captain of Squad 10 of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, proud bearer of Hyorinmaru, the strongest cold-based zanpakuto in the Soul Society of Japan. Hyorinmaru and I have helped countless souls reach the afterlife and meted judgment on spirits that have been corrupted and warped into monstrous Hollows. I have bested greater Hollows such as the Menos Grande and the Arrancar. I have bravely stood between Rangiku and a cabinet full of sake. Death in any form is no stranger and yet ... even I fear it._

_I know where human souls go when their time on Earth has ended. But where does a Soul Reaper's spirit go when life is done? Shinigami far older and much wiser than myself have pondered that question for untold millennia. I suppose I'll soon learn the answer._

_Hyorinmaru. I miss your wise counsel, your loving scolds, your protectiveness. I sense you somewhere far away, perhaps in London with Rangiku. I pray that is the case. Since I cannot have you at my side or in my hand, I can be glad you're too far away to feel the evil that has been done to your bearer._

_My healing powers have never been very strong. They're no match for what's been done to me these past days. Weeks? Time has lost all meaning for me._

_As I lay here in the blackness of my prison, the stench of blood and filth clogging my senses, my body broken and spirit flickering like a guttering candle flame, I at last understand what might drive a departing soul to resist the call of the afterlife, to remain behind on Earth even though they can neither influence events nor communicate with anyone._

_Regrets._

_Even I have them. Rangiku Matsumoto will never forgive me if I die. I can hear my lieutenant now, scolding me, crossed arms deliberately shoving her already significant breasts into even greater display-I swear they're going to pop right out of her kimono someday. She would cajole me and threaten to force-feed me sweets until I swear to never think about giving up ever again. Whatever part of me Rangiku might leave intact, Ichigo Kurosaki, Jushiro Ukitake, Renji Abarai, and the others will tear apart._

_Despite all of that, I haven't the strength to hold on any longer. My captors have done what countless Hollows and the machinations of that traitor Sosuke Aizen have not been able to do._

_They have made me surrender all hope._

_At least I will pass from this world knowing that while my body surrendered, my spirit and my will never broke. I have kept my honor. There is comfort to be found in that._

_I feel so tired. The pain of broken bones, burns and cuts ... I feel it less with every passing moment. This sense of floating ... of distance ... is this it, then? Is it time?_

_I suppose ... I have fewer regrets than I first thought. I can die knowing that I never betrayed the Soul Society, my fellow captains, my oaths, or my friends._

_Yes. There is comfort in that._

_Come, death. In whatever form you take when you bring home a Shinigami's soul, come for me._

_Toshiro Hitsugaya is ready to die._


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: This chapter and the next are giving me Aizen-level FITS! They just DO NOT want to be written! *baka!* It's not as well written as I would have liked, but what's done is done...

AN #2: edited on September 10, 2011. Corrected the areas covered by Avalon.

Chapter 1

(unknown number of days previous)

Toshiro Hitsugaya stood before the Senkeimon gate―the pass between Seireitei and the World of the Living―and made a final check of his uniform and supplies. Bathed in the first light of day, his appearance was, as always, immaculate―crisply pressed, complete with creases in the correct places, without even a hint of dust on either his sandals or the hem of his white captain's haori. Silver, spiked hair with one forward-facing lock over his left eyebrow gave him a deceptively wild appearance. He'd done his best to tame the wildness of both his hair and his spirit but, as always, had to settle for what he could get.

"Oh, please let me come with you," his lieutenant, Rangiku Matsumoto, pleaded as she clasped her hands in front of her amble breasts, her tall, busty appearance a sharp contrast to her younger, deceptively young Captain. Ginger-red hair bounced on her shoulders as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Just think of all the shopping I can do!"

The words were pure Rangiku Matsumoto. They rang true, as far as content. Yet something in her voice...

"Rangiku, is something wrong?"

The Squad 10 lieutenant attempted to appear positive and untroubled, but something lurked in her normally sparkly blue eyes.

"Captain, what could possibly be wrong?"

"Whatever it is, spit it out, Matsumoto. I have to leave for my mission in less than one minute."

The ginger-haired woman with the fukutaicho's badge strapped to her left arm wrung her hands a moment before saying, "Captain, I ... I ... promise me you'll be careful?"

Toshiro blinked in surprise. _Where did THAT come from?_ "When am I ever _not_ careful?"

She raised a single sculpted eyebrow. "Every time you touch Hyorinmaru's hilt."

The Captain of Squad 10 harrumphed, buried his arms in his sleeves, and turned away but offered no objection. How could he-her words were true. A non-verbal rumble of amusement in the back of his mind offered the youngest captain in Gotei 13 a fair idea of Hyorinmaru's opinion.

Still, if Rangiku Matsumoto felt the need to offer a warning, perhaps he should question further. After all, he was traveling halfway around the world, to a land he'd never seen. The culture and customs would be unfamiliar and perhaps dangerous for anyone ignorant of their hidden meanings. At least language would not be a barrier; Shinigami could speak all languages, a necessity when dealing with the souls of the dead.

"Is there a particular reason why you feel the need to caution me?"

Matsumoto paused a long moment before she sighed and shook her head. "N...No, Captain. Not...not really."

Hitsugaya sighed and looked away. "Rangiku..."

"Truly, Captain, I can't say why I feel worried. It's just...Oh, nevermind me. I'm just being silly. You know how I hate being away from your side."

"You hate having to do the paperwork while I visit England."

Rangiku tilted her head to the side and grinned sheepishly, a hint of color flooding her cheeks. "That, too."

"This mission is vital to Seireitei security, Matsumoto, otherwise the Head-Captain would not have ordered me to go."

()()()()

(The evening before)

_"Sir, Toshiro Hitsugaya reporting as ordered."_

_"Thank you, Lieutenant Sasakibe. I will meet with him alone."_

_The silver-haired, distinguished, soft-spoken lieutenant of Squad 1 bowed and backed out of the room. "Yes, Head Captain."_

_Head-Captain Shigekuni Yamamoto-Genryusai did not turn around to see either the man who remained in the room or the one who left. The oldest and strongest of the Shinigami-the Soul Reapers-faced forward to view the vastness of Seireitei from the peaceful shelter of his office veranda. Leaning on the rounded end of his staff-like zanpakuto, the one whom his subordinates respectfully referred to as "old man Yama" (but never, ever to his face) remained silent for so long, his visitor had to fight the urge to fidget._

_The Head Captain turned his head just far enough to the left to catch his visitor in the corner of his eye._

_Hitsugaya nodded a greeting and added the slight bow that was due to someone slightly superior in rank. Respect given, the youngest Soul Reaper captain in the Gotei 13, the Thirteen Court Guard Squads of the Japanese Soul Society, stood at respectful attention, spine straight and hands folded inside his sleeves._

_"You sent for me, Head Captain?"_

_"I did. While we wait for Sosuke Aizen's next move, we must do all that we can to raise our skills to peak condition. Of equal value will be allies."_

_Puzzled, Toshiro respectfully asked, "Allies?"_

_"Yes, allies. The Gotei 13 may at times seem like a unique entity, but we are in fact one of seven such heavenly agencies on this planet. Our purview consists of Japan, China, Mongolia, and the other Asian nations, as well as eastern Russia. These other agencies function much as we do, as guides for wandering spirits and warriors against spiritual threats, with the sole purpose of maintaining the balance of life. I have recently made overtures to these other Soul Reaper bases, seeking assistance with the Arrancar and Aizen issues. Avalon is the first to respond."_

_"Avalon..." Hitsugaya's gaze turned inward as he struggled to remember lessons from his long-distant time in the Soul Reaper Academy. "That is Europe, parts of the Mediterranean, and western Russia?"_

_"Correct. Their headquarters is located in England. London, to be exact. You will leave tomorrow morning for Avalon. There you will exchange information and, if possible, negotiate an alliance with their Shinigami, or as they call them 'Grim Reapers.' We will need all available aid when the final battle begins. If we can add even one factor that Aizen has not anticipated, it can hopefully increase our chance of victory."_

_"With respect, Head Captain. Why me? There are others with far more seniority and experience. Even Ichigo Kurosaki-"_

_"True enough," Yamamoto nodded, "but it requires someone of Captain's rank to negotiate with another branch of Soul Society. While it is true, Ichigo Kurosaki possesses Captain-level reiatsu, he is only a Substitute Soul Reaper and as such does not have the authority to treat on our behalf. As for the remaining Captains of Gotei 13, those who are not already engaged in vital activities do not have your experience in the World of the Living. Besides." Yamamoto offered a rare hint of a smile, complete with a faint crinkling of the crows' feet around his hooded eyes. "Can you imagine the havoc Captain Kenpachi would make of such an assignment?"_

()()()()

A golden glow surrounded the Senkeimon gate and brought Toshiro out of his thoughts. As the giant doors creaked open to reveal the smoky passage between worlds, Hitsugaya settled his bag more firmly on his shoulder, adjusted Hyorinmaru to sit more comfortably across his back, and stepped forward.

"Look after the squad for me, Matsumoto," he called over his shoulder. "I'll see you when I complete my mission."

Toshiro looked back as the gate closed behind him. In the instant before his lieutenant disappeared, her expression lost all hint of carefree merriment. A shadow, murky and ominous, pregnant with dark premonition, dimmed her eyes and stole all vibrancy from her body.

A single hand held out in entreaty, she called after him one last time, but the Senkeimon doors closed before he caught a single word.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Enormous wooden doors, ornate with intricate inlays of copper and iron, creaked closed behind Toshiro as he stepped onto foreign soil. The weather was significantly warmer in England, an uncomfortable thing for the bearer of Soul Society's strongest ice-based zanpakuto. His layered shihakusho was definitely not suited to the warmer English weather. He refused to let his gigai sweat; that would be most undignified.

He stood on a raised flagstone platform at the center of a giant courtyard. The heady sweet scent of pollen from flowering plants, bushes, and trees tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze. Around the courtyard, a building some five stories high formed a stone barrier around the garden. He estimated well over one hundred windows, their shutters thrown wide to allow access to a barely perceptible cooling breeze. Afternoon sunlight reflected off stained glass windows on the uppermost level, bathing everything in a shimmering glow of soft, soothing colors.

Behind him, the Avalonian Senkeimon vanished in a swirl of coppery mist, leaving him to face a reception committee. Four figures stood beside a magnificent and ancient flowering whitethorn tree, its white petals swaying in the breeze. Behind them was a grove of apple trees, a few stubborn flowers still clinging to the most protected branches.

The four figures-two men, a woman, and a spindly youth-all wore black, short-sleeve tunics over a white undershirt, black leggings, and leather sandals laced up to the knee. The three adults wore short white mantles, their hems lined with intricately woven Celtic knots. On the left shoulder of each mantle sat a number surrounded by a pentagonal Celtic design.

_The mantles are most likely their version of a haori,_ Toshiro surmised, _and the numbers are their squad designation._

The foremost male, who appeared even older than Head Captain Yamamoto, relied heavily on a walking staff for support; his mantle held a number 1. A gangly, red-haired teen-the only one not wearing a mantle-stood to the old man's left, ready to assist the elderly reaper. Beside the boy was a man with brown hair, a pleasant face, round metal-framed glasses, and an open, welcoming smile. A number 8 decorated his mantle.

To the eldest reaper's right stood the tallest of the party, a woman with the fairest, clearest complexion Toshiro had ever seen. Even with much of it swirled into a braided bun, long straight hair as silver as his own hung to her waist. Her mantle marked her as the 6th Division Captain.

Toshiro took note of the adults' weapons. The elderly reaper's staff was most likely his zanpakuto's sealed state, while the younger man wore a flamberge across his back, and the woman wore a Viking sword, or spatha, on her left side. The woman also carried other blades around her person, including a pair of thin-bladed daggers crisscrossed though her hair bun.

The younger of the adult males stepped forward and presented his hand. "Ah yes. Well! Hello. Welcome to Avalon. I'm Daniel Gilbreathe, Captain of Division 8, Research and Development."

_That's interesting,_ Hitsugaya thought to himself. _I wonder if Avalon's Captain of Research and Development is anything like Kurotsuchi. This man, Daniel, seems to be nothing like Seireitei's psychopathic Taicho. I'm rather glad of that. One Mayuri Kurotsuchi is more than enough._

Hitsugaya accepted the hand and replied, deliberately Anglicizing his name, "Toshiro Hitsugaya, _Taicho-_Captain-of Squad 10, Seireitei, Soul Society."

"Please let me introduce everyone." He indicated the woman. "This is Captain Aina Sigursdottur, Captain of Division 6, Strength-based Battle and Patrol Group."

The woman did not offer her hand, but she did acknowledge him with a slight tilt of her head. Being a warrior himself, Toshiro understood her reluctance to come too close until she had a better measure of his skill and trustworthiness. Toshiro compared her to Zaraki Kenpachi, her counterpart in Seireitei. They shared a distinct aura of thinly veiled violence and a love of battle.

Hyorinmaru's familiar voice whispered in his head, _Her zanpakuto is cold-based. She is very powerful. Take care not to anger her. A fight between us would not go well._

_Are you saying she's as powerful as you? _Toshiro thought back.

_I am saying, my bearer, that while I would no doubt win any fight between us, it would be neither enjoyable nor profitable._

_Understood, Hyorinmaru. I will take care._

The Captain of Research and Development indicated the eldest of their group, his voice thick with respect. "May I present Field Marshal Giliad d'Tournay, Captain of Division 1, Diplomatic and Administrative Corps, Avalon, and his personal aid, Sean MacCain."

Hitsugaya offered a respectful bow to the senior reaper. Even he, with his own powerful Captain-level reiatsu, felt the weight of years emanating from the elder man. Considering their relative ages and levels of spiritual pressure, it was not surprising that Toshiro had to consciously relax to breathe. If the pressure was this intense while the old man was relaxed and shielded, Hitsugaya dreaded to think what it would be like in a battle situation. Even an ally would have trouble standing in the face of such pressure.

"Welcome to Avalon, Captain Hitsugaya," d'Tournay's voice was strong, with no hint of waver or weakness. "I understand from your own Head Captain Yamamoto that you wish to negotiate with Avalon for information and possible military aid against a group of traitors?"

"_Hai-_yes, that is so," Toshiro replied. "Head Captain Yamamoto sends his greetings and most profound wishes for a successful agreement between our two agencies. He has bid me report the following to you. Sosuke Aizen and two other traitors stole a valuable and dangerous item that threatens the stability of both the living world and the afterlife. Aizen will not stop with destroying Seireitei-his actions are a danger to all sentient beings. His alliance with Hueco Mundo and the development of powerful and intelligent hollows called Arrancar have put us at a distinct and dangerous disadvantage. It is our hope that the other Societies of the world will join with us and help defeat this menace."

"Time is important in this matter," d'Tournay said, "but this is something we shouldn't jump into without careful thought and consideration. Captain Gilbreathe."

"Sir."

"You are assigned to assist Captain Hitsugaya. Exchange what information and intelligence you have each gathered. Once that task is complete, we'll meet again and discuss our options."

Hitsugaya bowed again. "Thank you, Field Marshal d'Tournay. Seiretei appreciates your consideration of this matter."

Toshiro Hitsugaya and Daniel Gilbreathe, both in gigai wearing civilian clothing, walked down a London street, headed toward the location of the last known Arrancar sighting. The sun had not yet reached the horizon but it had sunk behind the taller of the buildings to the west. Shadows lengthened and deepened but there was still sufficient light to move easily and quickly. Around them flowed living humans intent on enjoying a rain-free Friday afternoon. This was not a common occurrence and they were determined to take advantage of it.

"Judging by the report we received from the sole surviving reaper," Daniel said, "the creature may have been an Arrancar rather than an Adjuchas or Vasto Lorde. However, it didn't match the description of any of the Espada listed in your advance report."

"I can't claim to know all of Aizen's Arrancar, but the list is as accurate as we could make it. So far, he has sent out both defective and perfected specimens. We believe he is testing their abilities, primarily against Ichigo Kurosaki, a substitute _shinigami_ who lives in Karakura-town. Did your creature possess a _zanpakuto_?"

"A zan-what?"

"_Zanpakuto._ A Soul Reaper's weapon."

"Oh, a Spirit Sword, like my _Teines Sionnach_. No, none was reported. The creature wore only a partial bone mask and used brute strength to take out the team sent to destroy it."

"Then it may not have been an Arrancar. Arrancar strength, abilities and weaknesses vary as widely as do those of the _shinigami_, but they all possess some form of bladed weapon, as well as the ability to attack using an energy blast called a Cero. The partial mask is a definite sign of either an Arrancar or a Visored, but the lack of a _zanpakuto_ makes a final determination difficult."

"A defective version, then? Maybe a low-powered, incomplete transformation. Ah, if only I could capture it for study! Even if it isn't completely developed, we could learn so much!"

_For the first time,_ Hitsugaya shuddered,_ he reminds me of Mayuri Kurotsuchi. At least he has not said he will dissect the creature._

"Gilbreathe-_taicho_. Can you tell me ... how likely is d'Tournay-sama to agree to an alliance?"

The captain of Avalon Division 8 thought for several minutes. When he finally answered, his voice was guarded and hesitant, all trace of research fervor gone.

"Field Marshal d'Tournay has held the position for 1104 years," Daniel reported as they walked along the street, weaving in and out of the living human traffic. "He became a Captain over 1200 years ago and was an active reaper for several hundred years before that. As far as I know, he's held the top seat longer than any other Head Captain in any of the Seven Heavens."

_Seven Heavens,_ Toshiro repeated. _Is that what Avalon calls Soul Society?_

"He's head of the diplomatic branch of Avalon, so he's extremely experienced in negotiations and alliances. I'll be honest, Captain Hitsugaya. It will take a potentially apocalyptic threat for the Field Marshal to commit Avalonian resources and personnel to what is essentially another agency's civil war."

"Even if that civil war threatens to spread across the face of the entire planet?"

"Even so. Avalon isn't structured like your Seireitei, Captain Hitsugaya. From what I understand, advancement in your organization is based on physical strength, fighting ability, and level of spiritual pressure. Avalon elects our officers, including the position of Field Marshal. Each Division has one captain, three lieutenants, a varied number of seats called knights, and one top-rank new recruit to serve as the captain's aide. The rank of Knight is given when a reaper attains release-you call it _shikai_, I believe? These seats aren't given numbers the way they are in Soul Society-the rank of Knight is sufficient.

"Lieutenants are chosen by that Division's captain from the entire rank of knighted reapers and must then pass the level three officer's examination. Captains must reach Awakening-_bankai?-_then pass a level two officer's exam and be accepted by majority vote of all current Captains. The Captain of Division 1 and holder of the title Field Marshal is chosen by majority vote of all Captains, Lieutenants and Knights, and must past a level one exam. The position is good for 500 years when another vote is taken. At any time, a Field Marshal can be removed by a two-thirds majority vote of all captains, lieutenants and knights."

"It is certainly different," Toshiro admitted. He could see both advantage and disadvantage to the system.

A beep from the British reaper's pocket brought the conversation to a halt. Gilbreathe flipped open his soul phone and studied the screen.

"Oh, dear."

"Is there a problem?"

"A report of hollows. At least four, possibly five."

"Close?" Distant roars answered Hitsugaya's question.

The Avalon researcher pointed to forward and right, "Two blocks that way, near Charing Cross Road. We're the closest reapers to the site." He grinned and asked, "Feel up to a bit of a scuffle?"

"_Hai!_"

TRANSLATIONS:

Teines Sionnach - Fire Fox


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter 1 edited to clarify an issue: Heavenly Agencies/****Seven Heavens are the seven reaper groups on Earth (I'm expanding the myth a bit here, since I can't see the Japanese Soul Society policing the entire planet). Avalon equals Soul Society (the afterlife dimensions) and Camelot equals Seireitei (reaper headquarters in their respective dimensions). Hope that clears it up.**

Chapter 3

"Is it just me," Daniel Gilbreathe commented, "or are hollows inherently ugly?"

Toshiro Hitsugaya had to admit, "I have yet to see one that wasn't."

The two reapers–one shinigami and one grim reaper–stared as a sixth and final hollow exited the black tear in the open sky over Charing Cross Road. The two captains had left their gigai in the care of mod souls who scurried back around a corner to wait out the battle in safety.

Two of the hollows were small, barely Toshiro's height, but with double-hinged, unnaturally big mouths filled with multiple rows of sharklike teeth. Foot-long claws on their four hands and two feet dug into the ground and gouged great hunks from the cobbled street. They moved with near shunpo swiftness, blurring from place to place as they built up the courage to attack.

The largest hollow stood four times taller than Daniel's own six foot. Its most distinctive features were a single eye in the center of its face where a nose would normally be found, a wide tear of a mouth, and three whippet tails. The center tail ended with a cluster of beveled spikes. It was by far the slowest of the bunch.

The remaining three, between the others in both size and speed, were more reptilian than humanoid in form. One resembled a mutated T-rex, while the remaining two bore a vague likeness to komodo dragons. All three were covered in bony ridges, plates, and spines. The neck spines on the T-rex-alike glistened with a bilious green liquid.

The rancid meat stench from all six made even the seasoned reapers gag.

"Two against six. Interesting odds, I must say," Daniel grinned and unsheathed his sword.

"Unless one or more of them turns out be Arrancar," Toshiro reckoned, "two captains should have no problem taking down six hollows, even with our power bound by 80 percent."

Hitsugaya unsheathed his katana and released his shikai.

"Reign over the frosted heavens! Hyorinmaru!"

With a roar of joy and challenge, the great Chinese ice dragon appeared in the air directly in front of his master. A great slash of his blade sent a wave of glacier ice toward the gathered hollows.

The little ones easily darted out of the way and leg armor protected the giant, but the three reptilian beasts caught the attack directly across their hollow masks. Upon impact with Hyorinmaru, the mask on the T-rex shattered. As the bony fragments disintegrated, the hollow disappeared with an agonized howl. The other two masks cracked but remained intact.

Daniel Gilbreathe held his flamberge in a low two-hand grip, its wavy blade thrust toward the oncoming hollows. When the Avalon reaper growled, "Cleanse them with your fire, Teines Sionnach!" the flamberge grew an additional two feet and gained a glazed fire agate the size of a fist for a pommel. For an instant, a blue-flame fox stood on the flat of the blade, hackles raised and teeth bared. When it vanished, blue-white flames danced along the rippled edges.

Gilbreathe drew back the released flamberge, long hilt held tight against his side, then thrust it forward like a pike. A blue-white flame fox, three feet tall at the shoulder, shot out of the sword point and raced toward the smallest hollows. The fox's speed matched that of the small hollows. With a snarl and snap of its flaming jaws, the fox ripped the mask from the left-side beast. Before the hollow's screams registered, the fox sprang toward the second and repeated the attack. Within seconds, both hollows vanished in a swirl of black smoke.

_Three down,_ Toshiro thought. _Only the big one and the two komodo lookalikes remain._

"Can you get the big one?" Gilbreathe asked. "I'll take the other two."

"_Hai!_" A ball of light formed in the air in front of the giant's open mouth. "Look out!"

Before either captain could counter, the giant hollow–a mock Arrancar–released the energy blast, directly toward a human family huddled on the sidewalk, frozen in fear of a battle they could feel but not see.

Gilbreathe slashed toward the ground and cried out, "Barricade!"

A wall of impenetrable flame sprang up around the screaming father, mother, and three small children. The cero rebounded off the barrier and returned to its creator.

Writhing in agony caused by its own cero, the mock Arrancar lashed out with his tails. Gilbreathe dodged the first two, but the central whip slammed into his back. The pikes pierced his clothing and gouged bloody lines in his skin but by some miracle did not penetrate his body. With a grunt of pain and displaced air, the Avalon captain flew across the street. He slammed against the wall of a dingy pub hard enough to leave a man-sized dent in the wall and send fracture cracks shooting off for fifteen feet in every direction. The window of a record store next to the pub shattered under the shock wave.

Even in the heat of battle, there are instances where an unrelated occurrence can redirect attention and steal away a warrior's battle focus. Toshiro Hitsugaya looked to check on the status of his fellow captain just as the pub door opened. A single figure stood in the shadows of the interior, his body cloaked in black robes. Toshiro saw long, greasy hair, a hawk's beak for a nose, and sharp, hooded eyes.

A single hand holding a long, narrow stick jutted through the opening in the robes.

The human's attention sharpened, focused on the big hollow. He looked around, jaw slack with surprise. Black and green eyes met.

In that instant, Toshiro reached a startling conclusion. _He can see the hollows! He can see me!_

All around him, humans screamed and tried to run away from something they could not see. With only the visible results of the attacks to go by, some ran left, others right. Some sought shelter in a building only to have the front wall or window blown out by bone pikes, electrical blasts, ice spears, or flame balls.

Daniel dragged himself back to his feet, using Teines Sionnach as a leaning staff, and yelled, "We have to end this before any more people get hurt!"

Forcing his attention away from the human, Hitsugaya slashed Hyorinmaru horizontal to the ground and voiced an inarticulate yell. A hundred ice arrows appeared and sped straight toward the three hollows.

Only a second behind, Gilbreathe cried out, "Barrage!" producing exactly that–a barrage of one thousand reiatsu-powered darts of light, each the length and thickness of his smallest finger.

The hollows tried to evade but could not escape the combined attacks. The smaller of the two komodo-like beasts disappeared immediately. Hitsugaya shunpo'd forward. Sword held high overhead in a solid two-hand grip, he sliced downwards. The second komodo's mask split in half, along with the body beneath down to the hole in its chest.

The point of the flamberge's undulating blade easily pierced the giant hollow's single eye. Blue-white flames enveloped the creature and turned its skin to ash. With an unearthly shriek of pain and mindless rage, the three-tailed mock Arrancar vanished in a shower of black smoke and shards of light.

Once certain that the danger was passed, Toshiro released his shikai and sheathed his sword. Beside him, Daniel Gilbreathe sealed his flamberge and settled it across his back once more.

"The big one formed a cero," Daniel said. "It certainly wasn't a Menos Grande, so it had to be some form of Arrancar."

"A weak cero but a cero nevertheless," Toshiro agreed. "The beast possessed neither intelligence nor _zanpakuto_. So why would Aisen send a mock Arrancar here, to London? What would he have to gain?"

"That was weak?" Gilbreathe's eyebrows shot up under his sweaty hair. "How powerful should it have been?"

"For an Arrancar, a single blast should have demolished the entire block and left a crater fifteen to twenty feet deep in the ground beneath."

"Bloody hell!" Gilbreathe removed his glasses and furiously polished them on the hem of his black tunic. "If that's the case, I can see why your agency is asking for help."

A shift in the area's spiritual pressure alerted the captains to new arrivals.

"The clean-up team is here," the Avalon officer said.

Hitsugaya watched reapers passing from one human witness to another, pressing a moistened cloth against their foreheads. Other reapers worked with the rubble, planting false evidence and either removing or destroying anything that would point to a supernatural battle.

Daniel pointed to the surviving witnesses and said, "They won't remember anything more than a freak gas explosion, a lot of noise and confusion."

"I understand. We do something similar. Unfortunately, by this time some witnesses will undoubtedly have escaped beyond your team's reach."

"True enough," Gilbreathe said, "but hopefully, we'll create enough 'logical witnesses' and plant enough forensic evidence to discredit anyone who reports a more fantastic event."

As Toshiro Hitsugaya watched the Avalon response teams clean up the situation, his eyes shifted to the dingy pub entrance where the hawk-nosed man in the heavy black robes had stood. The door was now closed. He saw no sign of the dark man among either the survivors or the dead.

The youngest Gotei 13 captain shivered and pushed away the feeling that crept up his spine. In the instant before Hitsugaya returned his attention to the battle, he'd seen anger and avarice on the man's face. That hunger worried Hitsugaya almost as much as the human's ability to see spiritual beings.

A phantom feeling of eyes on his back stayed with Toshiro Hitsugaya long after the human was gone.

_After meeting Ichigo Kurosaki and his sister Karin, I'm not surprised that some humans are able to see hollows and shinigami._ Toshiro thought. _We're fortunate that both Ichigo and Karin are honorable people. I wonder ... what kind of man was he?_

Toshiro Hitsugaya really didn't want to know the answer to his own question.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Severus Snape, potions master and professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stepped out of the floo at the Leaky Cauldron. Slapping ash and soot from his robes, he stared around the dingy pub an even darker version of his habitual scowl pasted across his sallow face. Bitter anger hung around him like a grim fog, all but visible to the naked eye.

_Damn Sirius Black. Dying in battle against Death Eaters must have been a great comfort to the mangy mutt. Now the Potter brat will be even more morose and inconsolable, not to mention self-consuming and no doubt racked with guilt. Black had entirely too much influence on the boy. Dumbledore should have listened to me and killed the mutt the instant he had the chance. Now, thanks to the tiny shred of decency inside that senile old man, there's a great mess for me to clean up._

So here he was, the day after the battle at the Ministry, running errands for Albus Dumbledore. With Sirius killed by a fall through the Veil of Death deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, the Ancient and Noble House of Black no longer had an official head. The headmaster sent Snape to visit Gringotts Bank in the hope that he could prevent Death Eaters from gaining control of the Black inheritance and estates, chief among them being Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the Black family home and the current headquarters for Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix.

As he passed the bar, headed toward the alley entrance to Diagon Alley, the entire building shook under some type of explosion and impact. Dust, plaster, insects, and cobwebs fell from the rafters. Bottles toppled off shelves and shattered on the floor, while the pot of floo powder rolled off the mantle to break on the hearthstone. Giant cracks spiderwebbed across the entire exterior wall. Large chunks of plaster and wood flew across the room, injuring two witches who sat at a nearby table.

One overly brave wizard opened the door enough to peek outside. He cried out, "There's a fight outside! Two men in strange clothes ... fighting monsters!"

Snape shoved the terrified wizard out of the way. Wand in hand, he flung the door open enough to see.

Before his eyes stood two men, although one looked more like a child than a man, facing three strange beasts the likes of which he had never before encountered. A tall, brown-haired man with glasses, clad in medieval tunic, leggings, and braided sandals, lay beneath a huge dent in the outside wall of the Leaky Cauldron. A white-haired boy wearing some form of black, heavy, pleated trousers, and black robes under a white, sleeveless garment stood in the middle of the street, a long, curved, narrow-bladed sword in his hands.

The monsters were like nothing he'd ever seen, with little similarities between them except for bony masks over their faces and holes through their torsos wide enough to fit a fist from inside to out.

_But this is ... impossible. How can something survive with a great hole blasted through its chest! And what kind of man would fight beasts like these? With a __**sword**__ of all things?_

He and the boy locked gazes. His large eyes were a brilliant turquoise even more vibrant than the Potter brat's. A strangely intense glow shimmered in those otherworldly depths. Snape was instantly intrigued.

_The power he must possess. I can feel it rolling off him in waves. With that raw power at our command, we wouldn't need Potter. We could easily defeat the Dark Lord and rebuild the Ministry under Dumbledore's leadership._

_Wait. ... Can he see me? How can he see past the Muggle-repellent charms on the building?_

The older man in the Arthurian costume pushed himself off the Leaky Cauldron's wall, leaned on his flamberge for support, and called to his companion, "We have to end this before any more people get hurt!"

Severus Snape watched the end of the battle in stunned shock. He slipped outside the Leaky Cauldron, remembering at the last moment to cast his strongest invisibility charm over himself.

He watched the 'clean-up team' systematically alter the memories of the muggles and begin the arduous task of replacing all evidence of a battle with the more mundane proof of a gas explosion.

_It appears as though they have Obliviation teams, just like the wizarding world. I can't let them know I'm here. This information will be vital to winning the war._

Having spent almost five minutes without being detected, Severus finally felt comfortable enough with his invisibility to creep closer and listen to their conversation.

"You're hurt," the smaller, white-haired one said in a surprisingly deep voice. He pointed to his taller companion's side. Bloody lines in the skin over his ribs were visible through rents in the black tunic. "The neck spines of one hollow were definitely coated with some kind of substance. The tail of another might have been, as well. You should see the medical squad as soon as possible."

The taller man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nodded. "I'll go back now."

"Don't forget to collect your gigai."

_Gigai?_ Snape repeated inside his head._ What is that?_

"Oh. Yes. Quite right. I almost forgot. I tend to do that when I'm out and about. Thank you ever so much for the reminder. Field Marshal d'Tournay would no doubt have my head if I lost another one."

_They have a Field Marshal? That indicates a large organization, probably military in nature. And their commander's name is French? Is the French Ministry of Magic involved in some way?_

Snape stared as two figures walked up to the pair. Except for their muggle clothing and lack of visible weapons, the newcomers were identical copies of the two fighters. Two sets of identical twins? Even their hair fell in the exact same patterns.

_Could they have used polyjuice? Perhaps they're metamorphmagi. No, I seriously doubt there would be one unregistered metamorphmagus, let alone two, outside of Ministry knowledge or control. Some other form of shape shifting?_

"What will you do while I'm off seeing the doctor?" the older man asked.

"I'm going to look around a little more, maybe do a little shopping," the white-haired youth replied. "My _fukutaicho_, my lieutenant, is named Rangiku Matsumoto. She seemed a little worried when I left. I may look for a gift of some sort to cheer her up."

"Any type of gift in particular?"

The teenager thought about it a moment then admitted with notable reluctance, "Well, she is definitely fond of sake, an alcoholic drink."

"Then I know just the place. Four blocks that way," the man in the black tunic and tights pointed down the street, "is Tierman's Liquor Store."

The man's civilian lookalike handed over a small bag taken from his belt pouch. "Here's some human money. You can pay him back later."

_Pay 'him' back? Not 'me'? 'Human money'? That means ... they are not human._ Snape's black eyes glowed with unholy glee._ Yes! Under Ministry law, anything not classified as either wizard or muggle has no rights. If we capture him, we can gain control of this new power._

Snape listened to the two boys say goodbye to the two men. He watched as the Arthurian and the modern man disappeared into a dense crowd of the strange Obliviators.

He turned back to the boy in time to see his form shimmer, turn a lustrous pearl shade, and melt into the body of his twin. A circular object the size of a pea popped out of its mouth to land in the boy's ... the creature's ... open palm. The merge was complete in less than a second.

Snape couldn't hold back a small gasp of surprise.

The boy tensed and crouched, staring intently in Snape's direction. His right hand clenched the pea-sized object and raised it closer to his mouth. Had he heard that small sound? The potions master froze, careful not to make any noise, even to the point of suppressing his breathing.

The boy waited, looking around for nearly two minutes before slowly relaxing. With a final look around and an acknowledging nod to the clean-up teams, he walked down the sidewalk in the direction of the liquor store recommended by his injured companion.

_I have to move quickly. Once he completes his shopping and goes back to wherever he came from, there will be no way to find him again. I'll lose him forever._

_There's no time to contact Dumbledore for permission. I have to arrange this on my own._

Snape smiled, a most unpleasant expression of anticipation. The malicious glint in his obsidian eyes shone cruelly as he stared after the target of his attention.

_Boy. Beast. Whatever you are. I promise you this. Whether you know it yet or not, you and your strange power are mine. There is no escape for you now. I'll make certain of it._


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**A/N: A reminder: At this time, I am only 3 months into Bleach fandom and have yet to even see all of the anime episodes, let alone work my way through the manga. There are bound to be mistakes, despite the work of my wonderful beta, MG Mirani. Any mistakes that remain are mine. As for any OOC-ness with either the Bleach or HP characters, this is my interpretation and spin. It will not be to everyone's liking. I do not mean it snidely and please don't take it as such, but if this isn't your type of story, please feel free to find one that is. That being said, I will always welcome constructive critique whether it be positive or negative. It is the only way I can grow as a writer.**

The youngest captain in Soul Society's Gotei 13 walked out of the liquor store, irritated and empty-handed. How could he have forgotten-the real world had laws against 'underage' purchase of alcoholic beverages. Underage, hah! He'd achieved the rank of captain long before the man behind the counter was even born!

If he wanted to get this particular gift for Rangiku, he would have to swallow his pride and ask one of the Avalonian reapers for help. Normally he would not even consider such a thing. Such a degrading action only served to remind himself how young he appeared to others.

_Rangiku, I hope you appreciate what I'm going through for you._

A ripple of unease traveled up and down his spine. Hitsugaya looked up and down the street but could find no reason for his disquiet. Sunset had stolen all natural light, leaving only street lamps and indirect lighting from nearby businesses to illuminate the area. Passing car headlights momentarily pushed back the shadows

In addition to the liquor store behind him, several of the nearby businesses-restaurants for the most part-did a brisk business. Despite that, pedestrian traffic on both eastbound and westbound sidewalks was unusually thin. Toshiro studied every face and figure visible from his location, giving the nearby storefronts, windows, alleyways, and rooftops careful scrutiny. He even examined the open sky overhead in case something hovered there, intent on remaining undetected.

Try as he might, he saw no one even remotely suspicious.

_Why can't I shake the feeling that I'm being watched? It has been with me since leaving the battle site. What is going on here? Aizen, is it you? Are you after something here in London? Are you after me? Was all this-the mysterious Arrancar, the earlier attack-all part of a plot by you to lure a Gotei 13 captain into the open?_

_Come out and face me, traitor. Stop hiding in the shadows and act._

A ripple of something-not reiatsu, but similar-altered the air pressure in the nearby area. The effect was subtle but soon obvious: every person in the nearby area suddenly stared at their watch and hurried away, as though late for a very important meeting.

_What type of mental compulsion could make everyone rush off like this? And why aren't I affected?_

The final result was a two-block section of sidewalk occupied by no one but himself. A chill shot through his body as realization dawned.

_They've removed witnesses. It's an attack!_

With no time to install a mod soul in the gigai, Toshiro abandoned the artificial shell and assumed shinigami form. The gigai fell to the ground, a lifeless puppet without strings.

Instincts honed from a hundred years of battle slid into place. Hitsugaya tucked, rolled, and drew Hyorinmaru from its sheath. Two red beams of light cut through the space he'd occupied only a moment before. Hyorinmaru's blade deflected a third.

Not knowing who or how many total enemies he faced, their powers or intentions, Toshiro Hitsugaya deliberately flared his spiritual pressure to the maximum allowed by the restrictive seal. Avalon surely employed sensors similar to those in Soul Society. At the very least, someone in Captain Gilbreathe's squad should take note of a Captain-level battle taking place on a real world street.

* * *

Rangiku Matsumoto stepped through the Senkeimon into the courtyard arrival area of Avalon's headquarters, Camelot. The garden, lit by fifty torches and two large firepots, easily compared in beauty to the decorative estates of Seireitei. As she took in the garden's nighttime magnificence, a tall, brown-haired man wearing glasses and the local reaper equivalent of a shihakusho stepped up and shook her hand.

"Ah, welcome, Lieutenant! Good evening! It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Captain Daniel Gilbreathe, head of Avalon's Research and Development Division. We received Head Captain Yamamoto's message just a few minutes ago."

"Yes," Matsumoto blinked and stared at the Avalonian Captain. For once, a male's eyes met her own, rather than settling on another, more prominent portion of her anatomy. Had she finally met someone who wasn't mesmerized by her sexpot figure? "I'm Rangiku Matsumoto, _fukutaicho_ of Squad 10. Is Hitsugaya-_taicho_ here?"

"No, he went off on an errand, but I expect him back soon."

"Ah, _so ka. Ahno. Sumimasen._" Using both hands, Matsumoto passed a sealed folder to Captain Gilbreathe. "Here is the latest report on the newest Arrancar sighting."

Daniel accepted the folder and tucked it under his arm. "I'll read the entire thing later. For now, can you give me a short summary?"

"A Substitute Soul Reaper named Ichigo Kurosaki encountered this new Arrancar only a few hours ago. Information is still being gathered by teams headed by Kuchiki-_taicho_ and Kurutsuchi-_taicho_, but it seems the traitor Aizen has begun altering Hollows and imbuing them with varying and increasingly destructive powers. We believe he plans to use the _Hogyoku_ to create intelligent super-hollows with powers superior to those of all the Soul Reaper captains. This latest sighting was not physical powerful, but its ability to dissolve anything it touches is troublesome, to say the least. Head Captain Yamamoto thought this information might be important to Captain Hitsugaya's mission, so he asked me to bring it to you right away."

"Understood. Thank you for taking the time to run the errand so swiftly."

A hint of color stained the woman's cheeks. "I do my duty, nothing more."

"Duty?" The man's smile held no malice. He offered her a gentle grin as he teased, "Is that what they call concern for a friend nowadays?"

The color on her face deepened to an unmistakable blush. The rosy shade slid all the way down her neck and chest to vanish into her shihakusho. "Concern? What makes you call it that?"

"Captain Hitsugaya commented to me earlier that you were a little worried about him when he left. I can see he was correct."

"Captain Gilbreathe!"

Daniel turned as his personal aide, David MacRae, ran up, clutching his side and out of breath. Immediately serious, the Avalon officer barked out, "Report."

"Sir, the Scanning Department has picked up a sudden spike in spiritual pressure in the world of the living."

Matsumoto clenched her fist around her zanpakuto's hilt and gasped, "_Taicho._"

"Not necessarily." Daniel raised a cautionary hand. "We have several teams out looking for the missing Arrancar, as well as the normal patrols. Any one of them could have encountered trouble. Can they verify the origin of the pressure?"

"Yes, sir. The readings are identical to those from your earlier battle with the hollows. The spiritual pressure belongs to the visiting captain."

"If he's encountered the Arrancar or another group attack similar to the one earlier this afternoon, he's going to need help." Gilbreathe turned to Rangiku and pointed to a specific doorway to her right. "Lieutenant, the emergency exit to the real world is through that doorway, at the end of the corridor. Go. We'll gather a team and follow as soon as we can."

Matsumoto wasted neither breath nor time in acknowledging the order. By the time Gilbreathe finished speaking, she'd shunpo'd through the door and raced toward the emergency exit to the world of the living.

* * *

"Reign over the frosted heavens! Hyor-"

The instant Toshiro began the release chant, a disembodied voice cried out, "Don't let him finish any incantations!"

A flash of yellow light rushed toward him. Hitsugaya leaped high to avoid the attack, only to twist and dodge in mid-air as additional beams sped his way. He used reiatsu to stand on the open air; while there, he had more room to maneuver and the advantage of higher ground.

_Stupid._ The Soul Reaper captain thought. _To think you can keep me from summoning my zanpakuto._

"Hyorinmaru!"

The great Chinese ice dragon roared into being, coiling and circling until he formed a nearly impenetrable barrier of snow and ice between Toshiro and his attackers.

_Hyorinmaru, there are at least three, maybe more, but I can't see them. Can you sense their location?_

_No, my master. They are cloaked against my senses._

_They attack with different colored beams of light. I don't know what effect they'd have if one connected. _

_I will block them. None will touch you._

Unable to see his enemies, Toshiro elongated the chain attached to the pommel of the katana's hilt. A red beam of light impacted harmlessly against Hyorinmaru's icy scales. Through a thin space between Hyorinmaru's coils, Hitsugaya tracked the beam to its source and lashed out with the crescent moon on the end of the chain.

The chain arced and wrapped around something. Toshiro sent a wave of glacial ice down the chain.

The figure of a man rippled into view. He clutched a block of blue ice that encased his left arm.

"My arm! He froze m' whole bloody arm!"

"Humans!" Toshiro Hitsugaya cried out in surprise. He saw no hollow mask, not even a partial one, and the man's accent was unmistakably English. "You're _human_?"

A deep voice from directly below him yelled, "Expelliarmus!"

A powerful force snatched the katana and ripped it from Toshiro's grasp. An invisible fist slammed into his chest. Without conscious control of the reiatsu lift that held him airborne, Hitsugaya plummeted earthwards. By ill luck, he landed directly on top of the abandoned gigai and was involuntarily reabsorbed into the artificial body.

Before he could recover from the surprise-no one had ever broken his hold on Hyorinmaru!-two beams of light froze him in place. Heavy ropes appeared out of thin air, binding him from shoulders to thighs and pinning his arms against his side.

With his master's spirit bound in the gigai, Hyorinmaru could not remain manifest. Despite his roar of fury, the dragon spirit flowed back into the katana. The weapon lay abandoned, buried for half its length in the asphalt of the real world street.

_I ... I can't move! It's not just the ropes. Something else has frozen me in place. I can't even ... I can't move my foot. I can't turn my head. I can't even blink! What have they done to me?_

In the edge of his peripheral vision, two more figures shimmered into view. The binding spells prevented any physical manifestation of his shock, but inside, Toshiro watched in mounting dismay as the hawk-nosed man from the pub leaned over to examine his prize.

"Yes. Excellent. He won't be escaping two petrificus totalus spells and my conjured ropes."

"My arm! Lookit whah 'ee did t'me arm!"

"Stop complaining, Fletcher. St. Mungo's will fix it for you. Get yourself over there now. Moody and I will deal with this one."

The injured man clutched his frozen limb to his side and muttered epithets under his breath but did as instructed, disappearing with a loud crack.

A heavily scarred man with an artificial leg and most of his nose ripped off hobbled over. Though his look was fierce and his appearance even more gruesome than Zaraki Kenpachi's, Toshiro caught a faint hint of a softer, more compassionate expression, something akin to respect, on his face.

"Damn good fighter, this one. Agile, quick. Good thing you brought him down when you did. I think if he'd had a few minutes more, he'd've made life mighty hard for the three of us. So, Snape. Now that you've got him, what d'you plan to do with him?"

"Take him to Hogwarts, of course. It's a good a place to hide him as any, and once the brats leave, we'll have the place all but to ourselves. We'll have all the time we need to learn this creature's secrets."

* * *

Even at shunpo speed, it took Rangiku Matsumoto several minutes to traverse the distance between the emergency Senkeimon exit point and the attack site.

As the buxom shinigami slid to a stop, seeming to appear out of thin air, she saw her captain thrown over the shoulder of a tall, black robed man with a hawk nose and long, greasy hair. Hitsugaya appeared unnaturally stiff-frozen or unconscious. Massive ropes bound him from shoulder to thigh.

"Put him down! Now!"

"Bloody 'ell," the horrendously scarred man growled. "Another one. Bet she's just the first. We gotta go afore more of 'em get here."

The man holding her captain pointed a stick toward her and said, "Stupefy!"

"Growl! Haineko!"

The blade of Rangiku's sword dissolved into a sandy fog. The beam of red light struck the fog and fractured into a shower of red sparks.

"Confringo!" Before the shinigami lieutenant could go on the offensive, a concussive blast of air punched a hole through her sand shield and opened the way for a second incantation. "Sectumsempra!"

A frantic, instinctive lunge to the left saved her throat from a direct hit. Blood fountained from a vicious wound on Rangiku's right shoulder.

Matsumoto fell gasping to the ground, her arm useless, body locked in reaction.

Hawk Nose said, "We'll take her, too."

Despite the pain and shock form her wounds, Rangiku struggled back to her feet, a reformed Haineko held in her trembling, blood-slick hands. Scarlet liquid splashed around her feet. The puddle flowed downhill to pool around Hyorinmaru's upright blade.

"You ... will ... release him. Now!"

A tidal wave of spiritual pressure pressed against the combatants, knocking Rangiku Matsumoto onto one knee. Four figures appeared directly in front of the wounded lieutenant. The only one she recognized was Daniel Gilbreathe, but since another of the four-a tall, scarily beautiful woman with long, silver-white hair-wore the same white mantle as Daniel, she could only assume two captains within the rescue party.

"Time to go! Activate!"

"No!" Rangiku yelled, left arm outstretched as though she might snatch her captain from danger.

The two men, bearing their victim, vanished with a crack of displaced air.

Matsumoto collapsed to the ground. As blackness took her, she cried, "_Taicho ... Taicho!"_

* * *

TRANSLATIONS:

Confringo - blasting curse

Sectumsempra - cutting curse (created by Severus Snape)


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"So tell me again," orange-haired, 15-year-old substitute soul reaper Ichigo Kurosaki said as he trudged the final path to Seireitei's Captain's Meeting Hall, a large building located at the top of the hill in the center of Squad 1's compound, "what am I doing attending an officer's meeting in Squad 1's main hall?"

Lieutenant Renji Abarai rolled his red eyes at his companion. The tattooed, red-haired, second officer of Squad 6 repeated yet again, "Like I said before—twice!—Head Captain Yamamoto wants you to give a report on the Arrancars you've fought to all available captains and lieutenants."

Ichigo and Renji paused in front of the ponderously large, white doors, in the center of which was the diamond symbol of Squad 1. Fighting off a final urge to run back to his own world, where all he had to face were monstrous hollows and vicious Arrancars, Ichigo sighed and shoved the doors open.

"Iiiiiiichigo!"

Zaraki Kenpachi, one of the physically largest captains in Gotei 13—second only to Sajin Komamura, the anthropomorphic canine captain of Squad 7—greeted Kurosaki with a ferocious grin. His pink-haired pixie of a lieutenant, Yachiru Kusajishi, hung off the back of his left shoulder, giggled like the seven-year-old girl she appeared to be, and waved gaily in his direction. Kurosaki cringed and hastily moved to the other side of the room, closer to where Renji had taken up station behind his Captain, Byakuya Kuchiki.

"Uhm, yeah, Kenpachi." Ichigo offered the freaky captain a sickly grin. "Sorry. Can't fight with you today, Here on business, you know?"

"Too bad," Kenpachi drawled, a manic grin spread across his scarred face. A not-quite-sane light brightened the warrior captain's left eye, the right being hidden behind an oval black patch. A tilt of his body brought the soft tinkling of the bells attached to the end of eleven hair spikes that encircled his head. The overall effect was one of intimidation and poorly restrained violence. "We'll have to make time. Soon."

"So many familiar faces here." Ichigo said, hoping to change the subject. The carrot-topped teenager slid into the narrow space between Byakuya Kuchiki and Jushiro Ukitake. "Hey there, Captain Ukitake. How you doing, Byakuya? Rukia sends her love."

"Mmmmm." Everything about Kuchiki, from the white kenseikan atop his head to the priceless silver-white windflower light silk scarf and fingerless gloves, served to enhance his aristocratic mien.

Seeing Captain Ukitake fight down a smile at his fellow captain's expense, Ichigo couldn't resist taking the needling one step further. "You still don't like me much, do you, Byakuya?"

"Why should I?" The captain of Squad 6 asked, his cultured and aristocratic baritone voice holding the slightest hint of disdain. "You have given me little reason to either like or respect you. You persist in calling me by my given name when I have expressly forbidden the practice. Why do you do that?"

"I dunno." Ichigo shrugged, stretched a kink out of his spine, grunted, and scratched the back of his head. "I guess I just like the way it sounds."

A single eyebrow twitched. For a man as controlled as Byakuya Kuchiki, this amounted to a frenzied shout. "You ... like ... the way it sounds?"

"Hey, it's a cool name, what can I say?"

Several lieutenants and a suspicious number of captains felt the need to cough into their fists.

"Ichigo Kurosaki, if you are finished enraging my officer," Head Captain Shigekuni Yamamoto-Genryusai called from his thronelike chair at the sunlit head of the room, a ghost of a smile on his otherwise stern face, "perhaps you would be so kind as to begin your report."

"Yeah. Well, about that. I'm not so good at this report thing, but I'll tell you what's been happening in my town," Ichigo said. "For starters-"

"Hold, Kurosaki."

A hell butterfly fluttered through the open skylight to land on the old man's outstretched index finger. Head Captain Yamamoto listened to the message, his expression turning unusually solemn. As the hell butterfly disappeared into the shadows, he leaned against his staff, lowered his scarred head and lost himself in a long moment of thought. The gathered captains and lieutenants respectfully waited for their senior officer to finish digesting the report.

Predictably, Ichigo was not that patient.

"Bad news, I take it?"

"Yes, Ichigo Kurosaki. Very bad news indeed."

"Oh, that's not good." A flowered pink kimono draped over his white haori, Squad 8 Captain Shunsui Kyoraku tipped his woven reed hat enough to hide the whispered conversation from the head captain. The most flamboyant womanizer in all of the Gotei 13 shared dark looks with Ukitake, Kurosaki and Kuchiki. "The Old Man doesn't make melodramatic statements like that without a good reason."

"I agree," Ukitake replied, just as quietly. The white-haired, pale captain of Squad 13 closed his eyes and waited for Yamamoto to explain. He valiantly pushed down the small knot of apprehension that twisted in the pit of his stomach.

"We have received a communication from Avalon," Yamamoto told the assembled men and women. The tension in the room thickened even further. Seeing Kurosaki about to speak, he added, "In simplest terms, Avalon serves Europe the same way Soul Society serves Japan and its neighboring countries. At dawn this morning, Toshiro Hitsugaya journeyed to the Avalon headquarters of Camelot to exchange information on Arrancars and to negotiate for Avalon's assistance against Sosuke Aizen. Approximately four hours after his arrival in London England, an unknown force attacked Captain Hitsugaya while he was in the world of the living. They somehow managed to trap him inside his gigai and escape to an unknown location. At this time, we do not know whether the captain of Squad 10 is alive or dead. Lieutenant Matsumoto attempted to stop the abduction. She was critically wounded and is currently in surgery. Avalon has begun an investigation but as yet has no information on who took him or why."

"Toshiro? Kidnapped? How is that possible?" Ichigo asked the questions that raced through everyone's minds. "He may be your youngest captain, but he's one of the best fighters in all of the Gotei 13. How could anyone bring him down without taking heavy losses? And Rangiku wouldn't go down easily, either, especially while defending her captain."

"I want to know the answers to these questions myself," Yamamoto said with deceptive calmness. "To that end ... Captain Kuchiki, Captain Ukitake. Take any personnel you feel necessary. Go to Avalon. Your orders are to ascertain the whereabouts of either Captain Hitsugaya or his kidnappers. Of secondary importance, learn the reason behind the abduction and determine if there is any link between these assailants and Sosuke Aizen. Once you have any information, contact Captain Kyoraku—he will coordinate the data, cross reference it with Soul Society archival records, and present the results to me. Take no aggressive action without my express permission."

Ichigo announced, "I'm going with you."

Byakuya Kuchiki's voice was as droll and monotone as ever when he said, "You're not coming."

The orange-haired substitute soul reaper slashed the air with his hand. "Like hell I'm not! Those bastards hurt Rangiku and kidnapped Toshiro. I'm not about to sit around on my ass and wait for someone else to do something!"

"That is precisely what you will do. You are here to give a report on the most recent Arrancar sighting, not participate in Soul Society matters that do not concern you."

"Ichigo, he's right."

Derailed by agreement from an unexpected quarter, Ichigo blinked in confusion and faced the nearest thing to a friend he had in the room. "Renji?"

"Captain Kuchiki is right," the tattooed lieutenant with the pineapple-shaped topknot of red hair repeated. "Until we know who took Captain Hitsugaya, where, and why, there's nothing you can do. Face it, Ichigo. Your strength is brute force and a stubborn will that doesn't recognize physical limitations. It _isn't_ detective work. Leave that to us."

"But, Renji..."

Abarai laid his hand on Kurosaki's shoulder and squeezed. "I know. You want to help. Trust me, when the time comes, we'll need your power and determination. Whoever took him isn't going to give him up without one hell of a fight. For that, we'll need you."

With an unrestrained growl of fury, Kurosaki wrenched from beneath Abarai's comforting hand. He spun around and slammed both clenched fists into the nearest wall, punching twin holes through the ancient cherry wood planks.

"He's my friend. Sitting on my hands and waiting doesn't feel right!" Ichigo turned back, his brown eyes filled with helpless agony and a reluctant resignation. "You'll let me know, soon as you hear anything?"

The auburn-haired shinigami offered a solemn nod. "I will."

Jushiro Ukitake added his own promise, saying, "You have my word, you will be in the rescue party."

()()()()

_**A note regarding the duties of the Gotei 13:**_

_To the best of my knowledge, only some of the 13 squads have stated purposes in anime/manga. __Squad 1__ is (inferred) to be overall in charge of Soul Society though how it works specifically is not shown; __Squad 2__ is Stealth and Interrogation (assassination if needed); __Squad 3__ seems to be a secondary fighting force but again that is inferred and not specified; __Squad 4__ Medical and Support (perhaps quartermaster as well?); __Squad 6__ seems to be their version of CSI; __Squad 10__ appears to be investigative as well, but more like detectives than CSI; __Squad 11__ is the brute strength shock troops fighting force; and __Squad 12__ is Research and Development. Nothing much is known about Squads 5,7,8,9 or 13._

_A viewer/reader can assume that one or more squads specializes in the kido arts, is responsible for organizing patrols of the real world, providing reapers for the expeditionary forces (mentioned in The New Captain Shusuke Amagai arc, anime season 9 but not in manga), providing security and order in Rukongai, building reconstruction, communications, etc._

_For the purpose of my story, Squad 8 (Captain Shunsui Kyoraku) commands the Soul Society records and archives. This is supported in canon by Lieutenant Nanao Ise always toting around a thick book and the research they're always doing. The scene that most illustrates this is in the Bleach 2 movie, "The DiamondDust Rebellion."_

_If anyone knows more about the unspecified Squads, please let me know. Arigato gosaimasu!_


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**A/N #1: This story takes place before the Zanpakuto Rebellion Arc in Bleach...**

**A/N #2: Please welcome and bear witness to my gratitude to Yemi Hikari, who joins MG Mirani as beta for this story. Thank you both!**

Pain.

Raw misery pierced the blackness and suppressed all logical thought. Toshiro Hitsugaya wanted nothing more than to retreat back into the safety of the darkness, but stubborn pride kept him moving forward.

Several minutes passed before he could separate the two distinct sources of discomfort. His head throbbed in perfect synchronization with his heartbeat, the agony so rhythmic as to be almost hypnotic. As such, it could be acknowledged and ignored. His body, on the other hand, felt as though he'd taken a sword blade through the torso directly over his heart.

With near-maddening slowness, his other senses returned one at a time. Hearing came first, though other than a roaring in his eardrums and his own ragged breathing, there wasn't much else to hear. No sounds of traffic, no strange (or not so strange) voices, no buzzing insects or scurrying rodents, no dripping water or movement of any kind. All around him stretched an encapsulated silence.

Tactile sensations returned, though they were less reliable and gave him mixed messages. He still occupied his gigai, but the ropes had been removed. Except for the cloth around his loins, every other item of clothing had been removed while he lay unconscious. A single piece of material lay over him, a wool blanket by the feel of the weave.

He lay on a padded platform of some kind, a feather pillow beneath his head. A cot? A full bed? He wouldn't know until he opened his eyes.

_It could be worse,_ he reckoned. _Whoever took me could have just as easily left me naked on a bare stone floor._

The air felt tight, enclosed, as though it had rarely, if ever, experienced a refreshing breeze. A moldy, ancient scent hung heavy and fetid around him.

His throat was so dry.

When Toshiro tried to swallow, he realized something more. Uncomfortably tight bands encircled his throat, both wrists, and both ankles. The strange metal devices reeked of the not-quite-reiatsu energy. Despite contact with the gigai's skin, the narrow metal bands retained no warmth.

A faint light bloomed beyond his closed eyelids. With aching slowness, he opened his eyes, blinked his vision into focus, and stared around the room.

A pale gold orb of light floated in midair, close to the ceiling and well beyond his reach. Dust particles glistened thickly in the air, disturbed by recent visitors to the room. Footprints in the otherwise undisturbed dust trailed from the door to the bed and back again. The walls, floor, and ceiling were the same time-worn gray stone. A single reinforced wooden door stood on the opposite wall, devoid of either bar or handle—surely locked from the outside. Except for the bed on which he lay and a wooden pail in one corner, the room was depressingly bare.

Movement awakened the twinge of pain from his head and chest. Hitsugaya glanced down. A teardrop shaped, fist-sized, black and purple bruise lay directly over his left nipple—the impact point of the attack that had pulled his zanpakuto from his hand with such force.

_Hyorinmaru!_

Toshiro Hitsugaya shot upright and looked around frantically for his zanpakuto. Pain in his chest, a sudden blossoming of pressure, light and migraine inside his skull, and a nauseating dizziness sent him reeling back onto the pillow—he'd moved too quickly.

That brief look was enough. His katana was gone.

_Hyorinmaru. ... Hyorinmaru, where are you? ... Why don't you answer me?_

A void of silence met his desperate entreaty.

Did his enemies have his sword or had they left it behind? He pulled his thoughts to the center of his mind, to the frosty winter landscape of his innermost being. A storm raged across the frozen tundra, fueled by his turmoil. A mighty wind whirled around him, howling and biting. He yelled himself hoarse but never heard the familiar roar of the great ice dragon.

_How? How have they cut me off from a part of myself? It shouldn't be possible! Distance is no barrier between a shinigami and his zanpakuto!_

A shinigami cut off from his zanpakuto felt ... incomplete. Fractured. Less than whole. As though a vital part of his soul had died.

As he returned to the outer world, a single thought filled Hitsugaya's mind, _I can't stay here. I have to find Hyorinmaru._

With a mental twist, Toshiro willed his soul to leave the gigai. He opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the stone ceiling, still locked in the artificial body. He tried again with the same result.

_How is this possible! I can't leave the gigai. How have they-?_

Hitsugaya sat upright, more carefully this time. He stared, first at his wrists then at his ankles. Both hands tugged at the collar, only to let go when the device delivered a nasty shock. Shaking feeling back into his fingers, Toshiro rotated his wrists to better see the thin, silver-black bracelets.

_The bands. There are markings in the metal, a strange form of writing. The letters look vaguely Norse in origin. I remember seeing similar writings back at the Academy—runes? I can't read what they say, and even if I could, I doubt it would do me any good at all._

_My captors must have something similar to bakudo. They're trapped me inside this vulnerable body and cut me off from the part of my soul that is Hyorinmaru. Why? What purpose does it serve?_ His training and experience easily supplied the answer._ To prevent communication, resistance and escape._

A phantom sensation of hidden eyes brushed across his skin.

_I see no cameras, windows or peep holes, but the feeling is unmistakable. I'm being watched._

Separated from Hyorinmaru for the first time since hearing the dragon's voice, Toshiro wrestled with the torturous anxiety in his heart and mind. Desperate for any type of distraction, he focused on the mysterious observers and sneered in the direction of the door.

_They don't know me at all. This restriction will not stop me. I will escape, and I will find Hyorinmaru once again. I will not remain half a soul._

The youngest captain of the Gotei 13 rose off the bed and paced back and forth in front of the cell door, unmindful of his near-naked state. He reached out with the limited ability of his gigai and searched for those who secretly watched him.

While in a gigai, his shinigami senses were drastically weakened, but he could sense enough nearby spiritual pressure to estimate where they stood. At least one, probably two, humans stood outside the door of his cell. Their reiatsu was weak but felt similar to the emanations coming from the restrictive bands.

_Who are they? Why have they kidnapped me? What do they want? Do they hope to gain something from me, or am I a pawn in a more complex game? What will they be willing to do to meet their goals?_

Until the watchers outside his cell decided to appear, he'd wait to find the answers. He would bide his time and be alert for the best opportunity. Once their eyes were off him, he would escape this prison. He would be free to find Hyorinmaru once again.

It didn't matter whether they were an unknown group or human agents of Sosuke Aizen. His captors would pay for their audacity in daring to capture a captain of the Gotei 13.

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts, stared through the magically transparent doorway of the square, windowless cell. A wave of his wand had erased decades of dust and cobwebs from the floor, walls, and ceiling of the dome-roofed corridor.

He had never dreamed of visiting this particular hallway again. The last time he'd used the hidden prison two levels below the Slytherin dungeon dormitory, his dear friend-turned-bitter enemy Gillert Grindelwald ran rampant across Nazi Europe.

Beyond the one-way transparent door, a single mage light cast a ghostly, golden glow over the boy. The prisoner paced the narrow confines with a smooth, stalking grace normally impossible for adolescent boys who more often than not tended to be gawky and uncoordinated.

"You say the violence ... the attack ... an uncanny skill with a sword ... the ice dragon ... possession of a human body ... all were performed by _him_?" The elderly wizard in the outlandish and garishly purple robes asked as he stared over the top of his half-moon glasses and stroked the long white beard.

"I saw it with my own eyes," Snape replied, an undercurrent of defensive irritation in his voice.

"I was not implying that you might be mistaken, my friend," Dumbledore said. "I wished confirmation, nothing more. Might I trouble you for your memories of all your encounters with him? I want to know all that I can about him and his powers before I approach him with questions."

Snape reached into a pocket of his black professor's robes and handed over two small, stoppered vials filled with a glittering, silvery liquid. "I anticipated as much, Headmaster."

"Thank you, dear boy," Dumbledore said with a delighted twinkle in his bespeckled eyes. He accepted the vials and put them in his own pocket. Turning back to their prisoner, he mused to himself, "It's so hard to believe. He seems young enough to easily be a part of our student population. Under different circumstances..."

Snape scowled and muttered, "He knows we're watching."

"How can he? The cell is warded against all exterior light and sound. He is completely cut off from all outside stimuli."

Obeying an insistent nudge from Snape, Dumbledore moved three steps to the left. Though the prisoner's vivid turquoise eyes remained unfocused, he shifted his stance to track their movements.

"Wards or not," Snape said, "he is unquestionably aware of our presence. Whether by magic or through some unnatural sixth sense, we will have to determine for ourselves."

The Headmaster sighed. Much of his previous joviality disappeared. "So it would seem."

"The results of my initial scans show a number of suspicious abnormalities. The body he inhabits _appears_ to be human, but there are strange readings regarding both his life energy and his magical signature. He isn't a wizard, but an as-yet-unknown current of magical energy surrounds him. Strangest of all, the cells of the body are not aged as they should be. It appears to be an artificial construct, a homunculus of some kind but one more advanced than I've ever seen. We will need to study him further to learn more."

"A homunculus, you say? How thrilling."

This information piqued Dumbledore's interest and restored his good humor. Homunculi were, after all, creations of alchemy. His collaboration with Nicholas Flamel had produced intriguing results but nothing on the scale of this strange being. Dumbledore studied their prisoner with renewed curiosity, noting the delicate features and ideal anatomical dimensions, the lithe muscle tone, unblemished skin, and the lack of any visible scars or imperfections.

_An homunculus body would explain the lack of scarring on someone who is an apparently experienced fighter. I must learn more about its manufacture. The white hair and green eyes—were they deliberate or a byproduct of the creation process?_

"I must agree. There's something ... otherworldly about him. Hair the color of ice and unnaturally large, green eyes in one whose appearance suggests a young man of twelve, at most thirteen years. The way you described his fighting—it simply is not possible for a human youth to complete the complex physical and magical aptitude you reported. The sheer level of training required to achieve such a feat is remarkable and would take years, most likely decades to perfect. Even without your having seen him in battle, I am most troubled by his eyes. It's more than just the color. There is a fathomless depth there. An ancient soul devoid of innocence or wonder. One might even call it jaded or immured to violence. A soul that is immune to the horrors of violence suggests a being that is quite capable of performing vicious acts."

"So you see the same thing I do," Snape said. "This supposed boy is a threat to the wizarding world. If he and others like him were to ally themselves with the Dark Lord, our world would be doomed."

"Ah, yes. About the 'others like him.'" Dumbledore turned an intense, disapproving gaze on the younger wizard. The older wizard let a hint of his true power slip its leash. "You saw at least five others. The woman you wounded and four who came to her rescue."

The potions master nodded to confirm the statement. "Others may have appeared after we portkeyed away."

"Hmmmm. That's not good news. A rescue party would logically consist of their strongest fighters. If these five beings were equal to or more powerful than the one you captured, and if they are angry enough to come after wizardkind for what you have done to one of their own, you may have created an entirely new and unfamiliar battlefront."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, sighed, and turned away from the cell door. "We will not survive if we must divide our attention between two wars. At the very least, the fight would take a heavy toll on our already limited numbers and resources. As history has shown time and again, a war fought on two fronts is most often lost."

"Might I suggest an alternative to simply killing the creature or locking it away in Azkaban?" Snape asked. "He possesses a power we desperately need. If we can harness this ability, control it, it may mean the difference between winning the war and falling prey to the Dark Lord. In addition, he could be a priceless source of information about others like himself. As for any danger, so long as he remains here at Hogwarts and his existence unknown to any but the two of us and one house elf to clean up the mess, how can anyone possibly find him? If his companions never learn who has him, your theoretical second battlefront can never materialize."

Dumbledore mentally deliberated for a close to five minutes, mulling over all the possibilities presented to him, before he nodded and said, "True. On all points."

"How do you wish to proceed, Headmaster?"

"First, I will review your memories. They will give me some understanding of his abilities and intelligence. After that, there are some unavoidable errands I must run, not the least of which is retrieving Dolores Umbridge from the Forbidden Forest. It may take me some time to soothe the centaurs' ruffled tail hairs. I should be able to meet with our young guest later this afternoon. I'll leave him in your care for now, Severus. See that he receives food and water. Use my personal elf, Babby. She's old and mute, not to mention bound by geas to me, personally. She won't betray knowledge of either this prison or its occupant."

Snape acknowledged the orders with a curt nod. "Will you talk first or move straight to testing and questioning?"

"I'll try reasoning with him first," Dumbledore said. "If I'm fortunate, he will be reasonable and share what information he has."

"And if he proves unreasonable?"

Dumbledore's eyes hardened and lost their grandfatherly twinkle. "Then we try other means. If it involves doing something unpleasant, then so be it. One life alone, even a non-human one, isn't worth losing our entire society to an evil tyrant. This war is one we simply cannot afford to lose."

* * *

_**NOTE ON KIDO (as found on Bleach Wiki at http: / bleach . wikia . com) (remove spaces):**_

_-__Bakud__o__ ("Way of Binding"): A broad category of defensive spells which block/repel attacks or freeze enemies in place._

_-__Had__o__ ("Way of Destruction"): Offensive spells that harm an enemy or cause damage to objects._

_-__Healing spells: No known names, numbers, or incantations. The user holds his/her hands above the patient's wounds. His/her palms glow with green spiritual energy to facilitate healing. The healer replenishes the patient's reiatsu first, so the patient's reiatsu can work with the healer's in order to heal the physical wounds._


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**A/N: Some angst but not much action in this one. We'll return to Toshiro next chapter, promise. To everyone who has reviewed, thank you so much.**

On Saturday afternoon, London time, Renji Abarai followed Byakuya Kuchiki as his captain led the Seireitei party out of the Senkeimon and into an Avalon garden bathed in midafternoon sunlight. Behind them came Jushiro Ukitake and a young reaper from the Healer Corps, Hanataro Yamada. The final member of the group, a tall, dark and beautiful woman with distinctly feline features and a high ponytail of long straight purple hair, stepped through the gate just before it closed.

As the group had prepared for their mission, Renji recommended they bring someone with covert skills. He'd expected Kuchiki to tap Squad 2's captain, Soi Fon, or one of the covert squad's top operatives. Instead, Captain Kuchiki had delayed the group's departure for Avalon by four hours in order to enlist the former Captain of Squad 2, Yoruichi Shihoin.

When the lieutenant questioned the delay, Byakuya surprised him by actually answering, saying, "Shihoin's understanding of and ability to blend into the real world far exceed those of Captain Soi Fon. We may need her unique skills before this mission is complete."

Two Avalonian officers met them at the gate. Introductions between the Japanese Soul Reapers, Field Marshal Giliad d'Tournay and Captain Daniel Gilbreathe were swiftly completed.

"Please let me start by saying how sorry we are that this has happened," Daniel said as they walked down the garden path toward one of the courtyard exits. "I was his escort. I should never have left him alone. As I've already told Field Marshal d'Tournay. I take full responsibility."

"We've read the initial report," Captain Ukitake said. "You have no reason to feel guilty for anything that's happened. You were injured, and it was Captain Hitsugaya's decision not to return to Avalon with you. We hold no one responsible except those who ordered and implemented the abduction."

"Thank you, Captain Ukitake." Field Marshal d'Tournay accepted the absolution when it became obvious Captain Gilbreathe would not willingly release his sense of guilt. "If you'll follow me, we've prepared a meeting room. We'll give you all the information we've gathered up to this point."

As the party left the gardens and entered the building, bound for one of the Avalonian meeting chambers, a stuttering, timid voice whispered, "_Ah-ahno._ D'Tournay_ Soutaicho-sama_?"

Several of the party blinked and looked behind them. Hanataro Yamada stood at the back of the group, shoulders hunched forward but bravely determined to speak up. The mousy little healer was typically quiet and withdrawn, so much so that he was often overlooked.

"W-with your permission, sirs," Hanataro said, "may-may I see Matsumoto-_fukutaicho_? I won't be of much use in a strategy meeting involving high ranking officers, but maybe I can assist the healers."

Giliad d'Tournay said, "Of course."

As head of the Seireitei delegation, Byakuya Kuchiki added his own tiny nod of consent.

Captain Gilbreathe smiled and pointed down a side corridor. "Take that first left, follow it to a T and go right to the end of the hall. The treatment room is the last door on the right. If you reach the water garden, you've gone too far."

"Thank you, Captain. Sirs. Please excuse me." Hanataro bowed low then hurried along.

Byakuya turned just enough to catch Renji in the corner of his eye. "Go with him. Gather an updated report on Lieutenant Matsumoto's condition and report back to me."

"Yes sir."

Renji trotted the few dozen feet to catch up with the boy just as he reached the first turn. Together they followed the captain's directions. The unmistakable and unforgettable antiseptic scent of a hospital barracks proved they were on the right path. Within minutes, Hanataro and Renji found the specific treatment room.

They came to a wide, high archway large enough to push several beds abreast. The large, sunlit, corner room sat on the ground floor, its left-side and far walls lined in windows that faced a waterfall garden. Unused equipment sat on stands against the remaining two walls, interspersed with shelves filled with trays, boxes, bottles, and vials. One bed sat horizontal to the door, in the center of the room under a large skylight and a dense, green dome of light.

A single healer stood at the head of the treatment bed, inside a treatment bubble that, except for the color, reminded Renji of Orihime Inoue's _soten kisshun_ healing dome.

Though it was hard to tell through the green energy sphere, the female healer appeared to be tall, elfin slender, with a pale complexion and doe soft eyes. Golden blonde braids hung over petit breasts to a narrow waist before being tied off with forest green ribbons. Below the ribbons hung an additional eighteen inches of riotous sungold curls. In place of the traditional Avalon tunic and trousers, she wore a bleached white coat over a green linen shirt and trousers and green cloth slippers.

Kido energy surrounded the healer's long, slender hands as they hovered in the air an inch or so over her patient's right shoulder.

Renji's attention shifted away from the Avalon healer to the room's only patient. Rangiku Matsumoto's normally tanned skin appeared sickly green when viewed through the healing sphere. A single blanket covered her from the chest down. Above the blanket, heavy thick bandages wrapped around her body, mummifying her throat, right arm, right shoulder and entire chest to well below the concealing covers.

Despite lengthy medical treatment, bloodstains still marred the otherwise pristine wrappings.

"Rangiku!" Renji hurried forward, hand outstretched toward his injured friend.

"No, don't touch-!"

The instant Abarai's hand made contact with the green light, a concussive force propelled him away. He flew back through the doorway and slammed into the far corridor wall hard enough to punch a Renji-sized dent into the paint and plaster. Shock waves from the impact spread the damage for an additional five feet in every direction. He slid groaning to the green-and-white tile floor in a rain of white paint flakes, fractured wall pieces and plaster dust.

A framed landscape painting dislodged from the wall to land, corner down, on the crown of his head. Bright stars danced before Renji's eyes until his jarred brain stopped ringing.

The red-haired lieutenant rubbed the top of his head and winced when he felt a lump near his pineapple topknot. "What the hell!"

"I'm sorry," the pale woman beside Rangiku said. "I tried to warn you, but I wasn't fast enough. This healing bubble is Lunalyn's released form. She'll prevent any unauthorized person from approaching the wounded while the healing sphere is in place."

Hanataro stepped closer but deliberately did not touch the green wall of light. Hands clasped before him, he bowed low to the Avalonian healer and said, "I am Hanataro Yamada, seventh seat of Squad 4 and leader of the 14th Relief Squad. I have a small gift for healing. May I join you?"

Gentle, doe brown eyes studied the young man. The way both his attention and his hands wanted to go to the wounded woman on the table spoke of dedication and compassion. His hair was shaggy and badly in need of a trim, but everything about him was clean and his nails clipped. The boy's clothing was rumpled and not as neatly worn as it might be. In contrast, his field medic pack appeared to be fully stocked and well cared for.

Here was a young healer dedicated to his art.

A single finger rose to touch the barrier. The energy wall pulsed once. A soft sound, like the tinkling of a child's toy bell, rang in the room.

"Come through, Mr. Yamada. Lunalyn and I could certainly use your help. Our patient is out of immediate danger but there's still a lot of damage to repair, and the wound is resisting my efforts to seal it closed. I am Anissina DuLay, Captain of Avalon's Third Division. Please, call me Nissa."

Renji dusted himself off before re-entering the treatment room. As the two healers poured healing kido into their patient's wounded shoulder, he risked coming closer.

"Captain Dulay. Can I come inside? She ... Matsumoto ... She's my friend and ... well—"

The healer touched the barrier again. Hearing the bell tone from before, Renji stepped through the green energy wall. For the second he touched it, he felt himself being weighed by an unfamiliar spirit energy. His very soul was studied and judged. Permission to enter or not, had he harbored ill intentions to either the captain or her patient, the zanpakuto named Lunalyn would have removed the threat in an immediate and most likely violent way. Renji would not have enjoyed the result.

As he passed through the healing sphere, the feeling of judgment vanished. A sensation of warmth, love and welcome took its place.

Abarai watched the healers, their hands aglow with the kido energy being poured into the fight against a wound that resisted their efforts. Careful not to disturb their concentration, he stepped up to the bed and rested a large, calloused right hand on his friend's cool, clammy forehead.

"Oh, Rangiku," he murmured. "This is a fine mess you've fallen into."

The head under his hand shifted a tiny fraction, and a thin voice whispered, "R...ren...ji?"

"I'm here." When she tried to raise up from the pillow, Abarai pressed his hand against her forehead to hold her down. It didn't take any strength at all, which told him just how badly she was hurt. "No, don't get up. The healers're still working to close the wound." He tried very hard to offer a carefree laugh. "It's being as stubborn as you usually are."

"T...tai...cho? Where ... where is ... Hit—_ung_!" Eyelids raised, slowly, to reveal blue crescents filled with confusion, panic and pain.

"Do as he says, Lieutenant," Captain DuLay commanded. "We're having trouble with this wound. If you move around, the bleeding could worsen."

"Lay still, Rangiku," Renji said, "and I'll tell you what we know."

True to his promise, Renji Abarai told Rangiku everything that had been reported to them up until their departure from Soul Society.

"Now then," he said once his part of the explanation was complete, "can you tell me anything about what happened to you yesterday?"

"Yes...yesterday? It's been...that long?"

"Yes, it has. Think, Rangiku. What can you tell me about what happened? I'll let the rest of the team know."

"Two men. Spoke with ... English accents. Not hollows or ... or ... no heavy spirit-spiritual pressure. One ... older ... heavily scarred ... missing ... part of his face, _ung_ his nose. Other ... younger ... black hair, long, greasy. Nose ... large, h-hooked. Fought ... sticks ... beams of light ... colored light. Never saw such a thing before. Haineko blocked ... red beam. The next one ... punched through. Another right behind. It ... it cut me. I tried to stop them. Kami, I tried ... so hard."

"I know you did," Renji offered what comfort he could. "Captain Hitsugaya knows it, too."

"They took him. Why?" A large tear balanced a moment on her thick lash before it tracked from her eye down into the hollow of her ear. "Why ... would they ... take him? He could be ... they could've already—_unnng!_"

Renji squeezed her left hand with his own, while his right continued to stroke her forehead. "Rangiku, think this through. If they wanted Captain Hitsugaya dead, they'd've done it right there and then. There wouldn't've been any reason to take him away. He's alive somewhere, and we'll find him."

Blue eyes tipped up, desperate and pleading. "Swear?"

"I swear it, Rangiku Matsumoto. I swear to you, we will get him back. For his sake, and yours." She didn't respond. "Rangiku? ... Matsumoto!"

"She's fine," the Avalon captain reported. "She's lost consciousness again. As I said before, she's out of danger. Once we get this stubborn wound to close, she should be back on her feet in a few days."

Relieved but still worried, Renji stroked Matsumoto's hair and studied her unconscious face.

_Oh, Rangiku. Look what the bastards've done to you. We'll make them pay for this. And we'll get the young captain back, just like I promised._


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Albus Dumbledore left Dolores Umbridge in the care of the Hogwarts mediwitch and left the Hogwarts infirmary in a pensive mood. All around him, Hogwarts students traveled singly or in groups in the direction of the Great Hall where Saturday supper was being served.

Rescuing Dolores had been child's play. Soothing the ruffled manes of the centaurs had been the hardest part of the entire task.

Too bad he hadn't been able to convince their leaders to allow Firenze back into the herd. He'd much prefer to rely solely on Sibyl Trelawney as his Divination Professor. She, at least, was easy to control, especially since she had no reliable psychic power. All but two of her so-called "prophecies" were the result of her own desperate efforts to prove her vague, random gift.

Firenze, on the other hand, had true seer talent and might pose a threat to his plans for both Harry and the spirit in the homunculus. He would have to keep a careful eye on the exiled centaur.

As for Harry Potter...such a pity. The poor boy was still so angry, though if Albus allowed himself the luxury of commiseration, Harry's grief and rage would be understandable. His friends were injured and his godfather killed as a direct result of Harry's own actions.

The Ministry, the Wizengamot, the International Confederation of Wizards, the domestic and international news media (and through them public opinion), Hogwarts, Harry Potter―so many facets of Thursday night's events could be exploited. In regards to the last one, he would have to tread carefully. His control over Harry was tenuous at best. He'd need to work hard to regain Potter's trust.

Dumbledore sighed and turned his thoughts to a more distant memory.

How clearly he remembered standing in the middle of the muggle neighborhood on that cold November night. A chill wind blew; the muggles who lived on Privet Drive had long since climbed into their warm beds to sleep. He put out the street lights with his putter-outer. Minerva McGonagall transforming out of her cat form and back to human so that she could gently scold him, questioning his choice of refuge for the newly orphaned boy. Rubeus Hagrid arrived riding, of all things, Sirius Black's flying motorcycle!

The instant Hagrid placed the sleeping bundle into his arms, Albus Dumbledore sensed death on toddler. A roiling, purple and black, miasmic aura encircled the child, visible to the elder wizard's Othersense. No amount of anointing with holy water, treatment with potions, or the casting of spells would ever erase the taint from the child's soul. All Dumbledore could do was limit the damage by isolating the boy and minimizing his contact with the wizarding world.

His reasoning was as sound today as it was fourteen years ago.

No need for Harry to experience wizards' adoration of him. Nor would it be good for wizards to maintain a long-term awareness of and contact with their hero. Safer all around for the boy to be reclusive, mysterious, and misunderstood. All the better for Dumbledore to control his debut and any future interactions.

_What was it I told Harry in my office just a few hours ago? "Suffering like this proves that you are still a man! The pain is part of being human."_

_Thank goodness Harry missed that slip of the tongue. Had he questioned the comment, I would have been hard-pressed to come up with a suitable lie._

_Being human. Therein lay the crux of my dilemma, the source and impetus for all of my plans. Harry is still human―but for how much longer? The death taint on his soul grows stronger with every passing day. Yes, he is still human. But how long before Tom Riddle's influence swallows the angel and brings forth a devil? If he isn't aware of it already, the boy has a year, at most two, before he feels the potential evil within his body. After that, Harry's rate of descent into darkness would depend entirely on his resolve and stubbornness._

Dumbledore turned the final corner before the hidden entrance to the prison catacombs below Hogwarts' dungeons. He looked around with both regular and Othersight. Assured that he wasn't being followed, Albus touched the frame and muttered a wandless incantation. The painting of Relinda the Recluse that protected the series of interconnected underground tunnels and caves far beneath the Slytherin dorms floated to the side, allowing him entrance.

_Even with Harry's unexpected strength of character,_ Dumbledore reckoned as he entered the long, narrow, downward-sloping tunnel,_ he will eventually succumb. Then ... then I will do what I must._

The painting closed behind him, casting the long, thin, claustrophobic passage into blackest darkness. The tip of Dumbledore's wand ignited, glowing with a steady lumos charm.

_I will do what I should have done 50 years ago. I saw the evil in Tom even then. Had I been stronger, had I acted as my instincts told me to act back before he even left Hogwarts, our world would not be threatened as it is today. I made a mistake then by letting a potential dark lord live. I won't make that same mistake again._

_Harry Potter will save the wizarding world from Tom Riddle. I will save what's left from Harry Potter._

_Finding the time to juggle so many balls is really a bother. First Harry, the Ministry, Dolores, and now this strange creature Severus captured. Well, the matter of Dolores is now resolved. Communications have been sent to the Ministry. This entire affair with Sirius Black's death and Voldemort's rather public debut has worked rather well in my favor. Minerva should be released from St. Mungo's sometime tomorrow, so that will take the school business off my hands. The situation with Harry is as good as I can make it. Further efforts at regaining his trust cannot be rushed._

_All of which means I now have time to devote to our newest guest. I'm looking forward to learning his secrets. They should prove to be fascinating._

* * *

Severus Snape sat in a conjured green velvet highback wing chair set against the corridor's far wall, his feet propped up on a matching ottoman. Despite his interest in the potions text that rested on his lap―an intriguing thesis on alternative uses of lacewing flies by a young potions prodigy in America―he found his attention continually drawn to the intriguing figure inside the prison cell.

The boy seemed not to notice the chill, nor did he seem to mind being naked except for a thin loin cloth around his privates. He sat on the bed, legs drawn up, arms relaxed across his thighs. He rested with his back against the wall, turquoise-shaded eyes closed. Deep in meditation, he had not moved in at least three hours.

_What are your secrets?_ He cast the thought toward the silent prisoner. _Will you surrender them easily? I don't see that happening. It's not important, really. No one can resist the Headmaster for very long. We'll learn what we need to learn soon enough._

Sensing the Headmaster's approach, he laid the book on the rolled arm of his chair, extinguished the floating mage light that helped him see the text more clearly, and rose to his feet just as Albus Dumbledore appeared through a door at the end of the passageway. As the hallway was already lit by torches mounted in the walls, the elder wizard extinguished his lumos and put away his wand.

_About time you got here, you conniving bastard._ Snape held the thought behind carefully tight mental shields. _I've been stuck in this moldy old corridor all day._

"Ahhh, Severus." Dumbledore greeted the potions master. "Thank you for standing guard. I trust my house elf brought you something to eat?"

"Yes, she did. Thank you for that."

"Anytime, dear boy. Anytime at all." Dumbledore turned to face the see-through door. Snape's gaze followed the headmaster's, to where their captive sat on the narrow bed, head and back against the wall. "So. Anything new from our guest?"

"After you left this morning, he paced for approximately 30 minutes before he settled down into a form of meditation. When Babby brought my lunch, I instructed her to bring him food, as well." Snape waved a hand at the tray that lay on the cell floor. "As you can see, he hasn't taken a single bite. He spoke to Babby, demanding to know where he was and why he was being held, but since she can't hear or speak, he learned nothing."

"Excellent. His refusal to eat will actually work in our favor. Yes, excellent. I believe we'll start with a dose of Veritaserum. Do be a good lad and fetch some, would you?"

"Unfortunately," Snape replied, "that cow Umbridge used the small supply I had left. I was forced to destroy my stores lest the harridan poison or kill a student, most likely Potter or one of his merry little band. I can brew a fresh batch, but it will take 48 hours to brew and 72 hours to steep."

"Oh dear. And we don't dare expose his presence here by asking the Ministry for a supply." Dumbledore stroked his beard and thought a long moment. "Ahhh, well. We'll have to rely on older, more unpleasant methods."

"Have you reviewed the memories I gave you?" Snape asked.

"Yes, I have. If anything, your verbal report understated this creature's unique qualities. I will admit, I was most unhappy with the situation until I witnessed what he is capable of with my own eyes. You did right in bringing him to me, Severus. And you are correct―this power he possesses may be vital to winning this war against Voldemort."

Snape shivered at the Headmaster's casual use of the Dark Lord's name.

"Shall we go inside?" Dumbledore indicated their prisoner with a wave of his hand. The possessed homunculus was awake and on his feet, staring toward the door. "He is aware of us once more. I believe we have kept him waiting long enough."

"As you say, Headmaster," Severus agreed, himself more than ready to move forward with their plans.

With a casual wave of his hand, Albus Dumbledore opened the door and stepped inside. Severus entered behind him and closed the door.

"Hello there, my boy." Dumbledore met the icy turquoise eyes without flinching. "I do apologize for leaving you alone for so long. Important matters to attend to. I'm sure you understand."

His prisoner said nothing, though his eyes did narrow just the tiniest fraction. He'd struck a nerve of some kind, but with what part of his statement? He'd meant to be insulting, insinuating that his prisoner was of lesser importance. Was the key to breaking him through his pride?

"So then. To business. I believe I have some questions for you. And you have the answers. Shall we begin?"


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**A/N #1: I apologize for the longer than usual delay. Real Life has been a bear lately due to painful health issues. I'm going to be spending most of my Christmas break recovering from oral surgery. Add to that end-of-semester madness at the university where I work, and you have one tired little Meer-heika.**

**A/N #2: A great big thank you to my betas, MG Mirani and Yemi Hikari. They helped to make this the longest chapter yet.**

At last, the long wait was over.

Toshiro Hitsugaya both dreaded and anticipated this moment in equal measure. Throughout the long day, he'd maintained a passive scan of the area, hoping for one moment when no one watched him or blocked the way out. Though he rarely used the talent, his spirit form was highly skilled in kido. Even locked in a gigai, he'd need only a few uninterrupted minutes to blast through the door and find some way out of the building.

The coming hours would not be pleasant, but at least something was happening. If God willed it, once they finished for the night, he'd still be in strong enough to escape.

After that, he'd deal with matters as they came. To do that, he had to survive this initial interrogation. Thank goodness his gigai didn't require as much nourishment as a normal human body. Being stronger than they expect him to be will be a powerful advantage.

Though he assumed the hawk-nosed human would be involved in his interrogation―_what had the scarred one called him? Snape?_―the second figure was a complete unknown. Clearly the leader of the two, he radiated both calm and a not-quite-reiatsu energy that filled the room. With his long white beard tucked into his belt and his restrained aura of power, he reminded Toshiro of Head Captain Yamamoto―old, inflexible, bound to tradition, and accustomed to always getting his way. Despite his friendly smile and gentle airs, this old man felt both powerful and ruthless.

He was not a man to be taken lightly.

"Hello there, my boy," said the elder of the two humans. "I do apologize for leaving you alone for so long. Important matters to attend to. I'm sure you understand."

_Damn him for that._ Hitsugaya felt the familiar burn of irritation at being referred to as a child._ I am a Captain of the Gotei 13. I am not his 'boy'!_

"So then. To business," the bearded man said. "I believe I have some questions for you. And you have the answers. Shall we begin?"

The old man stared at him with twinkling eyes.

"First, let me also apologize for the delay in returning your clothing to you. There was some damage and filth due to the unfortunate scuffle with my friends. It took some time to repair and clean everything."

_I'm sure it did, old man._ In the privacy of his thoughts, Toshiro acknowledged the statement for what it was―a bald-faced lie.

The elder human waved one age-gnarled hand over another. A neatly folded stack of clothing appeared in his lower hand―jeans, plain black tee-shirt, socks and tennis shoes. The stack levitated a moment then slowly floated toward Toshiro.

_If he hopes to impress me, he's succeeded,_ Toshiro thought, _but I'll be damned if I'll show it. How did he do that? It appears to be telekinesis of some sort. Is it an internal, inborn power or one generated using an outside, technological force?_

_And why would he give me back my clothes? It would make more sense to keep me embarrassed, uncomfortable and off-balance. By giving me back my garments, is he trying to make up for his subordinates' violence or to weaken me with false reassurance?_

Whatever the source of the levitating power, Toshiro took the floating clothing out of the air, openly checking for wires or other external devices. Finding no sign of either alteration or outside influence, he set everything on the bed. It took but a moment to step into the jeans and pull the tee-shirt over his head. He sat on the bed long enough to put on the socks and shoes then stood to face his captors once again.

The old man pointed to the untouched tray that lay on the floor. "Was the food not to your liking? I can have something else brought if you'd prefer."

Toshiro glared and said nothing. He would not respond to such a taunt.

"Allow me to replace it with something warmer."

The old man clapped his hands together three times. A small round table laden with platters of steaming hot food appeared in the center of the room. Enticing aromas of hot bread, steaming chicken soup, ginger carrots, and pumpkin juice filled the small room. The scents set the young captain's mouth to watering.

Hitsugaya ignored both the tempting smells and the ache of hunger. He stared at his captors and remained silent. The food might be laced with something. Even if it were not, it was better to be safe than sorry.

However futile the gesture, the simple act of defying the old man filled Toshiro with a sense of confidence and control, something the young captain would not willingly relinquish.

"Well, I shall leave it there in case you change your mind. I should warn you," the old man continued. "I have a most curious nature. I can't wait to learn all I can from you. Your name, where you come from, how that marvelous body was created and by whom. Your purpose, your strengths and weaknesses. Your history and the history behind your race. Your powers and how they can be utilized in our own struggles against evil. Oh, I have so many questions."

Defiance or silence? There were advantages and disadvantages to both. By staying silent, he could not give away any secrets or betray his oaths. If he defied them, they might let slip some important information. The fact that it made him feel better to snarl and snap at his captors was, of course, pure coincidence.

"You'll need three lifetimes and an eternity in Hell before I'll tell you anything," he said.

The old man offered his most grandfatherly smile, complete with full eye twinkle over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "Oh, I doubt it will take that long. I will begin by telling you our names. You respond by telling us yours. That's a harmless enough exchange, I would say. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is my dear friend and colleague, Severus Snape, a certified Master in the field of potion-making. And you are?"

"No one of importance."

Dumbledore shook his head and sighed. "No, no, dear boy. That isn't how it will be done. What is your name?"

_No matter how annoying, I will not respond to his continual use of the word 'boy'. I will not allow any hint of weakness, especially not one regarding my apparent young age. He's far too interested in my gigai already without further fueling his curiosity._

"You have my answer, old man. I am no one of importance. I have no information or powers that I can share with you. I will tell you nothing."

"That would be most unfortunate." The genial tone faded from the old man's voice. A hard expression replaced the placid demeanor. "If you have nothing of value, why should we keep you alive?"

"You could free me because it would be the decent thing to do."

"I suggest a trade," Dumbledore countered. "In exchange for honest answers to, say, twelve questions, I will transport you back to London and release you at any location you choose. We can negotiate the twelve questions before making the final agreement. This way, I get some information and you have some control over the outcome. Both sides win a little and lose a little. Do you agree?"

Toshiro thought hard about the offer but finally shook his head. Even the process of negotiating the questions would give his captors valuable information. Any topic that he refused to address would flag it for later attention, and he had no guarantee that the humans would keep their word once the questions were answered.

"I don't trust you, old man. I refuse."

Dumbledore laughed, his humor back in place. "Ahh, I do like your spunk, my boy. You remind me of another young man. I'd be hard-pressed to say which of you is the more stubborn. Very well. We'll hold off on the discussion for now. There are other things that need attention."

Toshiro tensed._ I don't like the sound of that. What is this old fool planning to do?_

"My friend Severus witnessed you entering and exiting this body at will. At first, I thought you to be some sort of parasitic spirit, but our initial tests revealed that the body is most certainly artificial. Despite my current positions and responsibilities, I am an alchemist by both experience and inclination. The creation of such a unique and perfect homunculus fascinates me. If you won't tell me how it was created, I suppose I will have to find my answers by other means."

The shinigami fell into a low defensive stance. "I'll break every bone in the hand that dares to touch me."

"We can't have you resisting, dear boy." Dumbledore produced a wand from inside his sleeve and gave it a decisive flick. "It's simply not allowed."

The bands around Toshiro's wrists snapped together as though yanked by some unearthly strong magnet. They struck with a metallic clang that echoed in the prison cell. The violent move made his shoulders feel as though his arms had been wrenched from their sockets. He fought to pull his wrists apart but could not disconnect the two narrow bands.

At another upwards flick of the old man's wand, the bands rose to within a foot of the ceiling, taking Toshiro's body with it. One moment he stood his ground, ready to resist the physical and invasive experimentation. The next he dangled in midair, wrists locked together over his head.

Snape approached with a knife in one hand and a tray of lidded bowls and stoppered vials in the other. Hitsugaya did the only thing he could. The instant his enemy came within reach, he struck out with his right foot, intending to smash the hawk nose flat against his interrogator's face.

Unfortunately, the younger human had anticipated the attack and easily dodged the blow.

Snape pocketed the knife, waved his hand and muttered words that Toshiro didn't catch. All control left his legs, leaving him useless below the hips. He still possessed sensation, but every effort to move resulted in limp jerks and twitches.

The old man chuckled. "Really, Severus? Jelly legs? How unimaginative. I would have thought such a trivial, first year spell beneath a man of your talents."

"It proved effective enough given the circumstances."

"Yes, there is that. Thank you. I'm sure neither of us looked forward to a heel in the face."

Snape waved his hand again. Toshiro's tee-shirt, shoes and socks vanished.

Toshiro cursed and tugged but could not escape either the magical levitation that kept him airborne or the intrusive pokes, slashes, and swipes of the narrow knife blade. Hair, blood, skin, fingernail, and toenail samples filled the small vials. Vicious bruises already formed along his ribs, abdomen and left hip where Snape used a long, thin needle to gather internal samples, including bone and soft tissue.

_This man could give Kurotsuchi lessons in pain,_ Toshiro thought as a particularly painful jab of a needle into his left hip made his eyes water. He ground his teeth together and vowed to show no further signs of weakness. _I am stronger than that. I am a Captain and will not break so easily._

The shinigami endured the pain of the final needle's insertion with only a grunt, a narrowing of turquoise green eyes, and clenched teeth. He'd be damned if he let them know how much that hurt.

"Thank you, Severus. That should be enough samples for now." When the younger human moved away, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the prisoner. "Now where were we? Oh yes. Your name."

"After the kidnapping me and assaulting my body, you expect me to answer you? I am not a laboratory animal that you can experiment on. Go straight to hell, you diseased son of a bitch!"

"Such a filthy mouth you have. It needs washing. _Aquamenti._"

A torrent of water flowed from Dumbledore's wand, aimed directly for Toshiro's face. Hitsugaya twisted and turned, tried to tuck his face into his shoulder, and held his breath under the unending deluge, but he could not escape the cascade of water directly upon his head. Try though he might to resist the urge, he had to breathe. The instant he did so, his lungs filled with water and he began to choke.

The water ended as abruptly as it started. The old man let him cough and gag a moment more before he cast, "_Anapneo,_" to clear the liquid from Hitsugaya's tortured lungs.

"Now, are you willing to answer my questions? I have an unending supply of both spells and patience." To prove his point, Dumbledore waved his wand once more and conjured a comfortable wingback chair to sit in. "I can turn that water freezing cold or I can bring it to a boil. I can raise a painful rash and ulcerating sores on your skin. I can break bones or remove them entirely. I can even confound your senses to the point that you can't tell who or where you are. I would prefer to do none of these, of course. The choice is yours. So I ask again, what is your name?"

"And I say again, Go. To. Hell!"

Dumbledore sighed. "You would be a stubborn one, wouldn't you? All this bother for a simple name."

"If I surrender on this point, I will be tempted to surrender another, and another, and another," Hitsugaya said. "Eventually, I would tell you all that I know. I will not do this. Do what you must. I will not betray my oaths or my friends."

Dumbledore met his eyes straight on and said, "You have knowledge of interrogation techniques, I see, and know where to draw the line. You have given multiple oaths of rank or loyalty and have companions within your group that you call 'friend'. This tells me that you're part of a larger, more structured organization than I'd originally thought."

_Damn it! I should have stayed silent._

If only he still had the cool, reassuring presence if Hyorinmaru in his mind. The ice dragon always calmed him and helped him think rationally. Without him, it was much harder for Toshiro to control his emotions. Once again he silently cursed these strangers, these people that dared to take his zanpakuto from him.

The two stared at one another in a battle of glares. Toshiro shivered and wanted to look away, but pride held him in place. After nearly two minutes, the old man sighed, broke contact, and shook his head.

The greasy-haired one asked of his superior, "Anything?"

"No. It's strange. I can feel no barrier or restriction, yet I can't seem to access his memories."

_What is he...did he try to read my mind? The way he stared directly into my eyes. I felt nothing from his gaze. How am I immune to his mind art? Is it because I'm shinigami or because I'm in a gigai?_

Dumbledore waved his wand again. Toshiro waited but felt no immediate effect. "That was a supersensory spell, my boy. From this point forward, every spell or action done to your body will be magnified. I will provide you with a few examples. The simple pricking of your skin by the tip of a needle will feel as if you have been stabbed by a blunt knife–"

A flick of the wand created a dozen six-inch beaded and tasseled hat pins, the points of which left tiny pinpricks that barely pierced the surface of his skin. Toshiro sucked in a breath but held down a scream. His nerve endings burned with an unholy fire. He looked down, expecting to see copious amounts of blood on his chest and abdomen, his body skewered by the needles.

The metal hat pins with their brightly colored beads and tassels hovered mid-air, barely touching him. The minor wounds produced barely enough blood to bead upon the surface of his skin.

"–lukewarm water will scald your skin–"

The old man conjured another jet of water, this one a narrow stream that wrapped around Toshiro's body like a liquid whip. True to the threat, it felt as though the water ought to bubble and steam with heat. His skin should blister and peal, but nothing of the sort happened.

"–and irritating boils will burn your nerves with an acid fire."

Tiny spots appeared on his arms and torso. Hitsugaya hissed a breath through clenched teeth and narrowed his eyes in pain but made no further noise. He'd experienced caustic injuries in the past, usually in relation to hollows, but nothing compared to the bone-deep acid agony of these seemingly mundane eruptions on his outer skin.

"I guarantee it these will be the most pleasant things that can happen," Dumbledore promised. "Far worse is possible. I highly recommend answering my questions. It will save you needless pain and discomfort."

Toshiro bared his teeth and glared but said nothing.

_I must be patient. At some point they will leave me alone. I must endure until my time comes. I cannot give up. I will never surrender my pride!_

_Hyorinmaru, I will come back to you, and I will find a way to break this curse that separates us. When we are rejoined, I will make these humans pay for daring to cut me off from you._

()()()()

**A/N #3: **Several reviewers have requested longer chapters. I have created a poll to answer the question; it can be found on my profile page. Which do you prefer: shorter chapters with frequent updates, longer chapters with less frequent updates, or no preference. Please take a moment to both review (constructive critiques are always welcome, whether they are positive or negative) and answer the poll question. I can't promise anything, but I will do my best to abide by the results. _Arigato gosaimasu (thank you very much)!_ Meer-heika


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

**A/N: Okay, the poll is still open, but the current majority favors longer chapters even if it means less frequent updates. I already had this chapter planned out, so it will be stand as-is. I'll aim for longer sections beginning in Chapter 12.**

Byakuya Kuchiki narrowed his eyes the slightest bit, set down his glass of water, and spoke his first words of the morning. "Lieutenant Abarai. Stop pacing and sit down."

Renji Abarai turned away from the open French doors leading to a balcony that overlooked a Japanese garden, complete with koi ponds, live geese and cranes, and azalea-lined stone and sand pathways―_what is it with these people and gardens? They have every theme, type and shape!_―and dropped into the nearest chair, between Captains Kuchiki and Ukitake and across from the former Captain Shihoin.

After a restless night with very little meaningful sleep, the Soul Society's representatives―Byakuya Kuchiki, Jushiro Ukitake, Yoruichi Shihoin, and Renji Abarai―waited to hear what the Avalon officers had uncovered. Hanataro Yamada never made it to his assigned room and had yet to check in with any of the captains, having spent long hours assisting the Avalon healers in their treatment of Matsumoto's stubborn injury.

_Damn this waiting,_ Renji's thoughts raced_. Times like this, I understand the way Ichigo thinks. There're times when you have to wait even when all you want to do is bash heads together to make something HAPPEN!_

Renji rested for a total of six seconds before he heaved a heavy sigh and slouched down in his seat. His knuckles nervously rapped against the underside of the blond oak, rectangular meeting table.

"If you cannot sit still," Captain Kuchiki warned his lieutenant, the slightest hint of an angry glare evident in the small pinch between his brows, "I will order you to return to Seireitei. This matter is far too serious to allow emotion to overcome our better judgment."

Renji's cheeks burned. He sat straighter in his chair, cast his eyes down, and said, "Sorry, sir."

The door opened to admit the seventh seat healer, Hanataro Yamada, and his current patient. Rangiku Matsumoto wore a borrowed Avalonian reaper's uniform―black, short-sleeve tunic over a white linen shirt, black leggings, and leather sandals. The only part that remained of her shihakusho was her pink scarf, which acted as a sling for her injured right arm, and her lieutenant's badge.

Rangiku hobbled along beside Hanataro, sweat-faced and trembling. She leaned heavily against his smaller frame to the point that her amble breasts rested on the small teen's shoulders. Sweat drops and a hot flaming blush turned the boy's normally pale skin a rosy red.

"Lieutenant Matsumoto," Captain Ukitake greeted her with a concerned smile. "It's so good to see you back on your feet." He turned his attention to the flushed young man who supported her left side. Warm, honey brown eyes glistened with a mix of concern for the injured shinigami and amusement at the healer's discomfort. "Healer Yamada, are you certain she's recovered enough to be out of bed?"

"DuLay-_taicho_ released her," Hanataro reported, "on the condition she return to bed as soon as this meeting is ended."

"I'm fine, Captain Ukitake." Rangiku put on a powerful front, only to spoil the effect by grunting in pain when she sank into an empty chair. Yamada's hands hovered over her right shoulder and sent a pulse of healing kido into the still-tender wound. Matsumoto aimed a sideways glare at her healer escort. "As I recall, you're under the same orders."

"Which I will gladly obey as soon as this meeting is over," Hanataro answered with a tired smile as he sat in one of the room's seven remaining seats.

Captain Ukitake rose from his chair to visit the oak side board, where a small collection of teas, coffees, and finger snacks had been set out. He returned with a delicate, floral print china cup and saucer. A trickle of steam rose into the air, carrying with it the sweet scent of green tea.

"They don't have the world's highest selection of Oriental teas," he commented, "but this gyokuro blend is surprisingly good. If nothing else, it will warm you up a bit."

Rangiku accepted the teacup with a trembling left hand and a smile. "Thank you, Captain Ukitake."

"How much longer are they going to make us wait?" Renji asked, only to barrel on without giving anyone time to answer. "Captain Hitsugaya was kidnapped Friday night around 2030 hours. He's been missing for over 38 hours, and we don't have a single damn clue where to start looking for him!"

"That eez not precisely true," a male voice said.

Field Marshal Giliad d'Tournay, Captains Aina Sigursdottur and Daniel Gilbreathe, and a fourth man they did not recognize stepped through the doorway. D'Tournay and the two familiar captains took seats, while the unfamiliar man wearing a captain's mantle with the numeral "five" moved past the table to stand next to the open balcony doors.

Giliad d'Tournay introduced the Soul Society representatives to the newcomer then said, "Allow me to introduce Armand Rousseau, Captain of Division 5, Avalon's Kido-based Battle Team and Patrol group. Captain Rousseau's group has been instrumental in obtaining what little information we have on this situation."

Gilbreathe said, "We believe we know who has Captain Hitsugaya. If we're correct, getting him back will not be easy. It certainly won't be swift, not if we want to keep our existence secret from the world of the living."

Rangiku perked up, leaned forward, and asked, "You know who took Hitsugaya-_taicho_?"

"Yes," d'Tournay answered. "We believe wizards are involved, though which faction has yet to be determined."

"Wizards, you say?" Byakuya Kuchiki met the statement with the tiniest hint of disbelief. From his place at the western end of the rectangular, blond oak wood meeting table, Captain Kuchiki looked around the room to see matching expressions of disbelief and skepticism on every shinigami's face. "As my lieutenant pointed out, Captain Hitsugaya has been missing for over 38 hours. Can we afford to waste time on myths and fairy tales?"

Jushiro Ukitake carried it a step further. "Wizards? As in wand-wielding magicians?"

Renji Abarai scoffed the loudest. "You can't be serious."

"Unfortunately," Field Marshal d'Tournay said, "I am most definitely serious. Captain Rousseau will explain."

The Seireitei delegation followed the Field Marshal's gesture toward the officer in question. Armand Rousseau stood with his back to the open balcony doors. Outside light eclipsed his short, slender form and threw his otherwise nondescript features into ominous shadow.

His sealed spirit sword took the form of a five foot bo made from stained English Oak. He wielded the bo as one might a walking staff, one tapered end planted firmly on the ground to his side.

In a ponderous French accent, Rousseau countered their scorn by saying, "'ow can you deny the exeestence of deez magic users?" Rousseau asked. "Eet is not so much different zan our use of kido. What we call 'spirit energy,' they refer to as mageek. Some people are better at eet than ozzers. Some excel in combat spells. Some defend. Ozzers heal. 'ow we perceive a thing weel dictate how we refer to a thing.

"Dees is my area of experteez, so I weel answer. The magical world in Europe eez predominantly wand-based. Zee Orient tend toward wandless mageek. Both often translate in the afterlife into exceptional ability een kido."

Rousseau stepped away from the window, a sharp tap of his bo against the floor for every two steps, and sat next to Daniel Gilbreathe at the conference table. "We have known about zee wizarding world for 'undreds of years. When our number of skilled kido users drop below a certain percentage, I actively recruit from zehr deceased."

Giliad d'Tournay took up the explanation once more. His faintly Norman accent was smoother, more subtle and refined than Rousseau's heavy Parisian lilt. "They have a longer lifespan than their non-magical brethren, but they still eventually die. We've been careful to avoid the wizarding world learning about us in return."

"If wizardkind learned more about Grim Reapers than has been passed down through myth and legend," Daniel Gilbreathe added, "they would react in one of three ways. They'd covet our powers and seek to use us to further their own agenda, they'd fear us and attempt to destroy us, or they'd try to do both. Considering what's happening within their society at the moment ... I think it would most likely be number three. Each faction would have different methods and agendas, but their ultimate goal is the same―to win at any cost."

Byakuya closed his eyes, sighed, and lowered his head. Light reflected off the white kenseikan clipped into his long black hair. "They now have a captain-level prisoner and all the time in the world to study him."

Renji wrestled down a serious urge to slam his clenched fists down on the tabletop. "And we haven't a single clue where to find him."

"I disagree." Daniel took over the explanation once more. "We've talked with a number of newly arrived souls. The wizarding world of Europe is on the edge of a lethal civil war, the third one in the last seventy years. At this time, we know of three major factions. The Ministry of Magic is the governing body for Wizarding Britain, with the Wizengamot as their legislative arm. They're poorly led and split from the inside by political infighting, corruption, and espionage. However, they have the money and means to hold and interrogate a prisoner with impunity."

Aina Sigursdottur, her lilting Norwegian accent both martial and melodious, said, "The second faction is led by Albus Dumbledore. He's Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, but he knows the present government's structure and vulnerability. On the surface he may seem wholly on the side of light, he can at times be clinical, calculating, manipulative, and quite ruthless."

"I take it," Byakuya Kuchiki reasoned, "the third faction would be the antithesis of the 'light' side?"

"Unquestionably," d'Tournay replied, a solemn eye turned inward toward memory. "I recall Tom Riddle's last rampage as though it were yesterday."

"Rampage?" Ukitake repeated, soft brown eyes a blend of concern and curiosity. "An ominous choice of words."

"With good reason. Some fifteen to twenty years ago," d'Tournay relayed, "in Europe, a small segment of the wizarding world embraced a pureblood ideal. Anyone who wasn't a magical pureblood, meaning that at least five generations of the family had to be magical, was a potential target. Non-magical persons or offspring of a union between magical and non-magical parents were in immediate danger. These pureblood supremacists moved in the shadows, striking terror in thousands of hearts. The situation was, to say the least, most unpleasant."

Daniel took up the story once more, saying, "The atrocities spilled over into the regular world in a number of ways. In addition to direct death and destruction, their actions created hundreds of unsettled spirits and hollows. Across most of Europe, so many souls were being sent to Avalon, the regular patrols couldn't keep up. The United Kingdom was hardest hit. Too many lingering spirits were either being eaten by or turned into hollows. It eventually reached a point where even senior knights and lieutenants were sent out on patrol."

"The leader of the supremacists was a half-blood himself by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle," Giliad d'Tournay said, "though he rechristened himself with the ridiculous name of Lord Voldemort. Riddle was once a student of Dumbledore's but had turned to the black arts. He was seeking a way to escape death."

"Escape death?" Renji chuffed. "Impossible."

"Zat ees not true," Rousseau countered. "Ee 'as found a way."

Ukitake paled, his breath caught in his throat. "No. He wouldn't. _He_ _couldn't!_"

Gilbreathe tilted his head forward and stared at the white-haired captain over the tops of his low riding glasses. "You see where this is going."

"Well, I _don't_ see," frustration and inactivity made Renji speak more harshly than he might have otherwise dared as a lowly lieutenant in a room filled with captain-level officers. "What's he done?"

"He's created a gigai," Ukitake reported. "By transferring his soul into consecutive forms, he can conceivably live for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. But how is that possible? Only a spirit being with soul reaper powers can survive such a transfer."

Giliad D'Tournay closed his eyes and remembered back, "Fifteen years ago this coming October, an Avalon lieutenant was patrolling the town of Godric's Hollow. Tom Riddle targeted a particular family, the Potters. They were under a powerful spell meant to hide their presence, but they were betrayed by the one person they entrusted with the secret. Riddle first murdered the father, James, then went after the mother, Lily. The lieutenant arrived in time to witness him attempt to kill the Potter's fifteen-month-old son, Harry. Through a series of unfortunate events, most of them caused by the reaper's presence and actions, Riddle's soul was torn from his body but he escaped before holy judgment could be performed."

A long, pregnant silence filled the room until Renji Abarai summed up the information. "So reapers are partly responsible for the current situation."

Daniel Gilbreathe sighed and nodded, a deep flush of color on his otherwise pale cheeks. "Yes. We are."

"And therein lies our problem." d'Tournay sighed. "We must get Captain Hitsugaya back as quickly as possible, _without_ giving the wizarding world any further information or evidence of our existence. If we can correct the error regarding Riddle's soul, we will do so, but we cannot interfere with the affairs of the living world without careful consideration of all possible consequences. We must act quickly, yet we must not act in haste, for therein lies the road to chaos and failure."

"Isn't there something we can do?" Rangiku asked, her voice tight with anxiety. "Every minute we sit here doing nothing is another minute that Hitsugaya-_taicho_ is in danger."

"We understand your concern, Lieutenant Matsumoto," Field Marshal d'Tournay said, "but we have to we know where he's being held before we can implement a rescue."

"This Riddle sounds like the most dangerous of the three factions," Yoruichi reasoned. "Do we know where he's based?"

Rousseau nodded. "I 'ave spoken weeth members of ze British patrol groups. Among them was a reaper who recalled performing holy judgment on a teenage boy named Cedric Diggory."

Daniel added, "If our information is correct, young Diggory was murdered a few minutes before Tom Riddle acquired his current homunculus. We checked our records. Diggory was sent to Avalon from a graveyard in Little Hangleton, a small, out of the way town located in England. We believe Riddle is using the family mansion outside of that town as his base."

"Then that's where I'll search," Yoruichi said.

"Very well," d'Tournay said. "I will contact Captain Ruben Evanston. He captains our security and intrigue division. He will assign a team to act as spotters and couriers. At the same time, a second team will infiltrate and search the British Ministry of Magic. According to what little information we have, Riddle and the Ministry are the two deadliest threats. With his reputation as a fighter on the side of light, I doubt Albus Dumbledore would be responsible for kidnapping your officer."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

**A/N: This chapter has two firsts: it is the first long chapter as requested (~4,400 words!), and we finally see Harry Potter. Updates may be a week or two apart, but I hope the longer chapters will make up for the delay. **

**Happy Holidays from Meer-Heika to all her readers, as well as to her betas, Yemi Hikari and MG Mirani!**

_At last. They've left me alone and unobserved._

Toshiro Hitsugaya struggled to sit up. He acknowledged every ache, pain, sting, and twinge. His arms, shoulders and spine burned from supporting his weight for hours while his interrogators used shallow cuts, boils, blunt blows, and other less pleasant spells to break him.

However uncomfortable he might be due to the heightening effects of the supersensory spell, Toshiro admitted to himself, it could be much worse. At least he had no broken bones, serious blood loss, or internal injuries to slow him down.

_I have no idea what lies beyond my cell,_ he thought_. No matter what I find, wherever I am, walking around with a hundred ulcerated boils, bruises, and small cuts, barefoot and wearing nothing but dirty, blood-stained trousers will draw far too much attention._

He wrapped the blanket around himself like a Roman toga―that would do for now. He'd find something better along the way.

He gave the area a final passive scan. Finding no sign of either a guard or surveillance of any kind anywhere in his limited range, Captain Hitsugaya raised his right arm, palm forward, braced his forearm with his left hand, and said, "Hado 31: _Shakkaho!_"

The instant the red ball of energy gathered in the palm of his hand, Toshiro screamed. The bands around his neck and wrists burned with an unholy fire. The runes etched into the metal flared red-hot, searing his skin and firing his nerves. Interrupted, the kido spell dissipated without being fired.

_Damn it! I forgot about the bands. I can't let them stop me. I will work past the pain. I will get out. I need to find Hyorinmaru._

He fell to one knee, braced his right arm upon the upraised thigh, held it in place with his left hand, and aimed toward the door.

"Hado 31: _Shakkaho!_"

The pain struck again even worse than before, but by some miracle, the kido held true.

Though greatly weakened by the interruption, the _shakkaho_ shot out and struck the barrier. Fragments of wood and iron separated from the door. A dent the size of his clenched fist appeared in the center of the portal. Mini-projectiles pierced Hitsugaya's already abused body and added to his misery.

"I will not lose consciousness. I will not fail. If it requires the full incantation, that's what I'll do. Pain be damned! _I will be free!_"

Toshiro took a deep, bracing breath, readied himself, and recited the full incantation, "Ye lord! Mask of ... blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings ... ye who bears the name of Man! Inferno and ... pandemonium, the sea barrier surges ... m-march on to the south! H-Hado 31: _Shakkaho!_"

His vision filled with red light and starbursts of excruciating pain as runic magic fought against his reiatsu. Toshiro collapsed face-down on the cold stone floor. When consciousness returned, a smoking, gaping hole filled the center of the door, an opening wide enough for his body to slip through. Through the hole he could see a small section of the corridor, its far wall dented and air hazy with smoke. The prison cell stank of charred wood and overheated, melted metal.

_Must ... move. Must go. This is my one chance to escape. I can't let them stop me._

Using the bed frame, Hitsugaya pulled himself back to his feet. He wavered and almost collapsed, but pure stubbornness kept him upright. Toshiro stumbled to the door and stepped through the new opening.

He found himself near the end of a very long, rough-hewn corridor. To his right, the dome-ceilinged corridor went on forever in a wavy, slightly less than perfect line. The parts he could see in the limited light that spilled from his prison cell appeared to be a combination of chiseled and natural stone. To the left were two doors and an abrupt end to the passageway.

Scraping noises caught his attention. The latch of the farthest door on the left-hand side rattled.

_Someone is coming. Of course they would have some kind of monitor on the cell door. I've come too far to fail now. I will fight, to the death if need be. I will be free!_

The dark, greasy-haired one, Snape, appeared in the opening portal, wand at the ready.

Before the wizard could cast a spell, or even fully exit the tunnel behind the doorway, Toshiro fired another kido, this one a binding. "Bakudo No. 9: _Geki!_"

Hitsugaya cried out in pain and toppled but the kido spell held together. A red light haloed Snape, paralyzing him, freezing him in mid-incantation.

The shinigami captain landed on his hands and knees, limbs barely able to keep him from falling the rest of the way. His entire body trembled with fatigue and overexertion. The pain caused by the restrictive bands added to his torment. The stink from his earlier kido filled his lungs with unpleasant smoke and left a bitter, metallic taste in his dry mouth.

Toshiro pulled himself back to his feet using the stone wall for support. He blinked in confusion for several seconds before he recognized one additional benefit to paralyzing his enemy: Snape's frozen body held the doorway open. He had a way out.

As he moved past his erstwhile captor, Toshiro Hitsugaya could not resist saying, "Stupid mortal human, to think you could hold me prisoner. Whatever you hoped to gain from me leaves with me. I suggest you forget you ever saw me."

Paralyzed, Snape could not respond with anything more intimidating than an icy shimmer in his black eyes.

The upward-angled corridor was low-ceilinged, narrow, and utterly black. He walked for what felt like hours but was in fact only a few minutes. He at last exited the passageway from behind a painting located at the end of a longer, taller, and wider corridor. Huge firepots decorated with an unfamiliar crest stood against the walls, providing plenty of warmth and light.

Voices echoed around him, their direction unclear. They sounded high-pitched and ... young?

Weaving his way along the corridor, Toshiro found himself in a windowless dungeon of some kind. The most logical way out would be ever upwards. The building felt and appeared to be centuries old. The very stones screamed age and power. If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the strange reiatsu-like energy pulsing from every chip of stone and grain of wood.

Hitsugaya climbed several flights of stairs before he came to a hallway that smelled of fresh air and a promise of freedom. It also meant a greater likelihood of being seen and recaptured. It would depend on who he encountered before he found the way out. Anyone would be preferable to meeting Dumbledore again. Toshiro had used almost all of his strength fighting Snape. He'd stand no chance against the elder wizard.

Sounds of high-pitched voices and loud, carefree footsteps approached from behind. Toshiro hid behind a suit of armor set into a recessed niche. He hunkered down into the shadows, pulling the blanket up to hide his fair hair and skin and to break up his human outline. He held perfectly still while a group of children, all pre-teens and clad in matching black robes, trotted past his hiding place, laughing and shoving one another like a pack of playful puppies.

_Is this ... a school? It can't be! Yet ... the old man said ... he claimed to be Headmaster of a school for magic? That must be where we are._

_How could someone torture a prisoner for information under the feet of innocent children!_

For once, his youthful appearance might be an asset. If he could get one of the robes, it would hide his injuries from curious eyes. He could blend in more readily and perhaps even risk asking directions to the way out of the castle. It would depend on the size of the school. If it was a small facility―though that was unlikely judging by the sheer scale of these underground passages―he would stand out because no one would recognize him.

Even then, if he could reach the upper passages and find an exit ... it was worth the risk.

As though in answer to his need, footsteps approached his hiding place. A solitary female student followed in the wake of the larger group, her face buried in a newspaper.

_Thank you, Kami._ He offered the grateful prayer even as he readied himself to use a healing kido to put the girl into a harmless sleep._ I now have my way out._

The willowy young woman stopped a single step before he would have released the healing kido. She smiled toward his shadow behind the armor and closed the newspaper which, he noted, had been upside down. Once the paper was tucked away, he noticed a second robe, this one folded neatly over her bent arm.

"Hello there. You can come out. There's no one nearby except me, and I won't hurt you." Hitsugaya froze in place, stunned at being directly addressed. How had she known he was there? "If it's all the same, I'd rather not be put to sleep and stuffed behind a suit of armor. Wouldn't you rather just accept the robe I brought you instead? Besides, you really should save your strength for later."

Toshiro blinked and stared at the strange blonde wearing a necklace made of cork bottle caps. _How did she ... how could she know I'd be here, that I'd need a cloak?_

"Oh, don't worry about me telling anyone. Believe me, I have very little reason to trust most of the adults here in the castle, and I know from my recent adventures just how much someone our apparent age would resent being called any variation of 'child'. The Headmaster's habit of calling everyone 'my boy' or 'dear girl' can be quite annoying at times, can't it? Oh, listen at me prattle. You need to hurry or they'll catch you for certain. Here. Take this." She handed over the robe, which he accepted with trembling hands and a numbed mind. "I would have brought shoes as well, but I'm afraid the nargles have hidden all my spares."

She pointed to a nearby flight of stairs. "These steps will lead you to the ground floor. Follow the corridor to the right. It will take you to the main doors. Once you're outside, there will be too many students between you and the most direct path to the forest, but if you angle over toward the lake, you should be safe. But you have to hurry."

"Your ... your name? What is your name?"

"Luna. Luna Lovegood, at your service, kind sir." The girl gave a little curtsey. She waved merrily to him and walked away, her face once more buried in the upside-down newspaper. "Tell Harry hello from me, would you? And let him know no one blames him for what happened. I tried to tell him myself, but he's avoiding me for some strange reason."

"Harry?" Why was he bothering to talk with her? He should use healing kido to knock her unconscious according to his original plan. To let her walk away unhindered was madness! "I don't know anyone by that name."

Her dreamy voice wafted back to him as she disappeared around a leftward bend in the corridor. "Not yet."

* * *

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, sat on the edge of Hogwarts Lake. The fifteen-year-old boy's narrow shoulders bowed beneath a heavy weight of grief and guilt. Unruly black hair and his black school robe complete with Gryffindor House's lion crest waved in the breeze, while emerald green eyes leaked unending tears of sorrow.

_Three days. It's been three days since Sirius fell through the veil. Part of me accepts it. That part tells me that I should move on, that Sirius wouldn't want me to waste good prank time by crying over him. He'd laugh in that barking, dog-like way of his and feel flattered if I pulled the world's best school-wide practical joke in his honor._

_Another part of me feels raw, like it just happened. I keep looking around, expecting to be back in the Ministry of Magic. I expect to see Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and the others, both friends and enemies, fighting each other. Hermione being slashed open by Dolohov, Neville's broken nose, Ron's tangle with the strange brain, Luna being thrown across a room. And Ginny ... I see it all in my mind as though it's happening all over again, like a crazy movie reel set to constantly repeat itself!_

The sun balanced on the edge of the western mountains. The first chilled breeze of night chased away the day's earlier, uncomfortable heat. Feeling a cold that was as much spirit injury as outside temperature, Harry huddled deeper into his school robe and tucked his hands up the sleeves.

_A final part of me is numb, as though it happened to someone else, like I've lost someone I will miss but can't seriously grieve for. That's wrong of me, but I can't help it._

_My friends were all hurt trying to help me. Am I spending so much time grieving for my godfather that I'm neglecting them? I spent most of this morning in the hospital wing with Hermione and Ron, but was that enough? How much time should I give to the dead before I start stealing attention from the living?_

_Sirius. God, Sirius, I miss you so much! I could go to you with questions like these and know you'd give me the right answers, or as right as you could think of. Knowing you, it would involve something silly that would cheer everyone up, at least for a few minutes._

Alone except for his windmilling thoughts, Harry paced the lake's edge and tossed an occasional stone into the placid shallows. Far out, in deeper water, the giant squid waved a tentacle in greeting. Harry tried to smile at the strange sight but couldn't summon any feeling of amusement.

_Much as I wish otherwise, I can't stay out here forever. It's getting dark. I should head inside. Dinner is being served. Have I eaten anything today? Except for the cup of dandelion juice at Hagrid's, I can't remember eating or drinking anything else. I'm not hungry, either. And who could eat with all the whispering and staring that'll go on? I wish they'd make up their minds about me and stick with it. First I'm a lying, dangerous, unhinged lunatic, the next I'm the tragic, misunderstood hero who valiantly tried to warn them of the dangers._

_They're all sheep being led this way and that by the Ministry and its toadies at the Daily Prophet. Not one of them can think for themselves. Idiotic sheep, the lot of them._

As Harry turned back toward Hogwarts castle, he spotted a small figure heading in his general direction. Something in the way the child walked, closer to a hunched, meandering, weaving stumble, caught Harry's attention. The fair-haired boy moved like someone in great pain.

Curious, and desperate for anything to distract him from his grief, Harry left the lake and walked toward the child. He didn't recognize the younger boy and certainly would have remembered someone with silver-white hair as unruly as his own. He was busy this year though. Maybe the child was from one of the other houses? Students didn't ordinarily mingle with other houses unless in class. Except in very rare cases such as the D.A. that he'd set up this year with Ron and Hermione, mingling with younger or older years from other houses was practically unheard-of.

As the distance between them lessened, Harry noticed the boy's eyes, even stranger than his own, turquoise compared to Harry's own emerald green.

Various curses marred the strange boy's face and the small bit of skin visible over the top of the oversized robe with a Ravenclaw House crest on the front. The boy was only partly dressed, missing a shirt, socks and shoes.

_He must be a Ravenclaw firstie. Boils, rash, low-level cutting hexes―I count almost a dozen painful curses on his face and neck alone. His body must be a hundred times worse. The bands around his neck and wrist ... are those power runes? Hermione would know, but I can't tell for certain. Only a Slytherin would do something like this. If I find that Malfoy was behind it..._

* * *

Toshiro Hitsugaya's strength gave out as he approached the lake. He'd cut closer to the water's edge than was truly necessary due to the need to avoid groups of students who might question his presence or point him out to either Dumbledore or Snape.

A rough stone pierced his heel and disturbed his balance. The little captain stumbled and fell to the ground. Every muscle shivered like warm gelatin. Getting up again would not be easy.

"Are you badly hurt?"

Hitsugaya looked up. A young man, around fifteen years old, stood between him and the forest, beyond which lay a daunting mountain range that would be very difficult to cross, given his current state. The boy's black hair was as spiky and messy as Toshiro's own. The stranger's green eyes, visible behind round, black, wire-frame glasses, were reddened, puffy and shiny, all signs of prolonged crying.

"Hey, it's okay. I won't hurt you. I just want to help." The boy pointed toward Toshiro's face. "Most of those look like minor jinxes. Let me get rid of them for you."

The stranger pulled a wand from his robes. Toshiro tried to raise his hand, fought to summon enough strength for even a low-level hado, but he was too spent. He could only lay there, helpless, as the other boy waved his weapon and said quite firmly, "_Finite incantatum._"

The painful boils sank back into his skin. The redness and swelling from the stinging hexes faded away. All the other physical effects evaporated from his body, including the hypersensitivity that heightened everything else. Only the slash injuries, bruises and weakness remained.

"Madame Pomfrey can heal the rest in no time," the teenage boy said. "Who did this to you? Was it Malfoy and his goons?"

Toshiro looked around, frantic for a way around this stranger. Looking back over his shoulder, he spotted a solitary figure in billowing black robes storm out the castle doors and down the main steps.

He muttered in Japanese, "Damn it!"

* * *

The white-haired boy stared toward the castle entrance and said something that sounded like, "_Shikusho._ How did he break free of the _geki_?"

Harry's stomach plummeted. Emerald green eyes widened in disbelief. Except for small groups of students headed inside for dinner, the only figure visible was that of the potions master.

"'Break free'? Professor Snape? _Snape_ did this to you?"

The trembling boy struggled to his hands and knees but could rise no further. This didn't stop him from continuing to fight.

"Can't ... let him get me." Unable to stand again, the young man dragged himself across the ground on hands and knees, desperate to escape.

"If Snape did this, there's no way in hell I'm going to let him get you again. We need to hide you, fast." Harry looked around the darkening school grounds. A stand of dense shrubs closer toward the lake's edge caught his attention. "There. You can hide there while I get rid of him."

Harry tried lifting the boy to his feet. The strange youth thrashed around in feeble but desperate resistance.

"Stop fighting me," Harry hissed into the strange boy's ear. "I'm trying to help!"

The white-haired first-year went limp, as though all strength―both physical and mental―had left his body. Harry grunted and pulled until he could set the younger boy down and roll him beneath the stand of bushes. Harry hurriedly wrapped him in the folds of the oversized robes, careful to hide the very visible silver-white hair and every trace of pale skin.

"Stay there and don't make a sound. I'll get rid of him."

Harry moved some ten feet away from the gathering of shrubbery and sat down with his back against a gnarly old oak tree. He stared up at the stars and waited the final few seconds before Severus Snape's careful search pattern closed the distance between them.

Seated as he was beneath the great tree, Harry was little more than a short, slender, black outline in an inky shadow created by starlight and the last fading traces of daylight. He gazed westward for a moment, enjoying the final seconds of illumination against purple and rose clouds.

Inevitably, Snape spotted the shadow. Wand raised, he raced over, ready to strike.

_The boy and I have the same physical proportions and body shape,_ Harry reasoned. _I'm a few inches taller, but that'd be hard to tell in this light. Snape must think I'm him._

"Potter!" Snape said, his voice strong with disgust and disappointment. The potions master lowered but did not put away his wand. "How long have you been outside the castle?"

"Since I left to see Hagrid. Right after the fight with Malfoy and his goons, and Professor McGonagall came back from St. Mungo's. Not that it's any of your business. It's Sunday, classes are ended, and I'm on my own time."

Snape's upper lip tightened in a snarl, and his eyes blazed with anger. "You will show me the respect I am due as a Hogwarts Professor, Potter."

Momentarily forgetting about the stranger hiding in the bushes, Harry rose to his feet and faced his most hated professor.

"Respect? I'll show you respect when you earn it." Harry railed at the potions master, fists clenched in rage. "Sirius is dead! Most of it's my fault, I know that, but some of it is yours, too." He threw himself back down to the ground and resumed his rest against the trunk of the oak tree. "Go away and leave me alone."

"Not until you've answered my question, Potter. Have you seen a strange boy wandering the grounds? Short, white-haired, green eyes? He shouldn't be too hard to miss, not for the 'Gryffindor Golden Boy.'"

Harry kept his eyes averted, supposedly interested in the last fading light of sunset. _Can't give Snape a chance to use legilimency on me._ "No, I haven't. Not that I'd tell you if I did."

"Which doesn't answer my question at all."

Harry shrugged to show how little he cared. "It's the best answer you're going to get. Now go away and let me grieve in peace."

"Harry, my dear boy," a new voice said, "why would you lie to Professor Snape?"

Potter jumped and looked up to see the Headmaster standing next to Snape. "Dumbledore."

* * *

_Damn it!_ Toshiro cursed in the privacy of his own thoughts. _The old man knows I'm here!_

Dumbledore waved his wand. The bushes that formed Hitsugaya's hiding place uprooted themselves, walked five feet to the west, and set themselves down once more in the soil. The black cloak rose into the air and dissolved into nothingness.

_No! It can't end like this. The forest is so close. If only I could reach it! Damn this weak gigai. I can't move, can escape, can't fight. I used everything knocking down the door and fighting with Snape. There's nothing left._

The boy who'd tried to help him―_This must be Harry, the one that Luna girl told me about_―stared at the old wizard in confusion. "Professor? What's going on?"

"You should go into the castle, Harry," Dumbledore answered. "Dinner is being served."

"How can I eat when ... Wait, you knew about this?" Harry's face lost all color, turning a starlit, washed out gray. "You did this? Professor, please! That's impossible! You didn't ... you wouldn't―"

The old man stared at him with sorrowful eyes over the tops of half-moon reading glasses. Starlight and indirect illumination from the castle cast his face into sinister shadow.

"Some things are necessary, Harry," he said. "Someday you will understand."

"No, I won't. I'll never understand something this horrible. How could you let this happen? He's just a child!"

"Looks can be deceiving, Potter," the potions master replied. "The vessel looks like a child, but the spirit within is something else entirely. It isn't even human."

"You're crazy! Whatever you want from him, it can't be worth _this!_ It just can't be!" Harry pulled out his wand and held it in a shaky, two-hand grip. "And I ... I'll stop you if I have to!"

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You leave me no choice. I would ask you to forgive me, but I'm afraid you won't remember anything _to_ forgive."

"Won't remem- ... no." Harry's eyes widened in horrified understanding. He dove to the right, desperate to avoid the incoming spell. "No!"

"Obliviate." Harry stumbled to a stop. His eyes lost focus, glazed and empty. The old man waved his wand again and said, "Somnulus."

Harry dropped his wand and collapsed to the ground, a light snore the only proof that he still lived.

"H-h-Hado–"

"Enough!"

Snape backhanded Hitsugaya with a clenched fist. The young captain rolled across the ground, making five full rotations before he came to a jarring halt. By the time he recovered enough to even consider resuming the fight, magical ropes pinned his arms tight to his heaving sides.

Toshiro gagged and spit. Droplets of blood from a mangled lip and split cheek splattered the ground, a shiny, obscene scarlet against the lush green grass of the school lawn.

"Severus, would you take young Harry back to his bed? Settle him to sleep in Gryffindor Tower. I will clean things up here and meet you below."

"Of course, Headmaster."

Snape levitated Potter's body into his arms and moved towards the castle entrance.

_I'm sorry,_ Hitsugaya sent the apology to the unconscious young man. As the greasy-haired man carried the black-haired teen away, he added, _Forgive me. I should have trusted you._

_

* * *

_

_**P.S. A/N: The next chapter will center on and be from Yoruichi's p.o.v. I don't know her character well at all, so if anyone can recommend any well-written fanfic that portrays her character, I would appreciate it.**_


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**A/N: This chapter was the hardest to write so far for three reasons: 1) chapters must be longer, and 2) I don't know Yoruichi's character well at all.**

**Big nod to Bleach Wiki for information on Yoruichi, definitions, descriptions, etc.**

Dawn was a faint promise on the eastern horizon when Yoruichi Shihoin knelt on a low rise located on the southern outer fringes of the Riddle House grounds. A small grove of stunted, dying trees served as excellent cover for their approach. All that lay between her and her target was a flat expanse covered in tall, dead grass, squat and twisted bushes, and shapeless grey rocks on a steadily upward-sloping hill.

In preparation for the inevitable physical battles, she'd left her gigai at Avalon headquarters and approached the enemy's building in the stronger and harder to subdue shinigami form. In addition, she had discarded both her usual orange and white top shirt and turtleneck sweater, leaving her clad in all-black skin-tight pants, backless halter top, and knee-high boots―the battle dress suitable for the high-density kido produced by the _shunko_ fighting style.

Her black clothing, dark skin and purple hair blended well with the winding shadows. Only her sparkling golden eyes betrayed her presence.

_Too bad I can't wait for night to fall again. The mission brief took forever―my head is still spinning over the things that wizards can do with their little sticks―then we had to reach Little Hangleton and pass through stronger-than-expected outer defensive wards. Who would have guessed it would take this long?_

_A nighttime search would be ideal, but Toshiro Hitsugaya has been missing far too long. Further delay is unacceptable. We can't wait, it's too much of a risk. I have no choice but to go in now._

The former commander of Squad Two and the _Onmitsukido_, the Soul Society's secret Stealth Force, glanced back at the two Avalon knights who accompanied her on her current recon mission.

"Any news from the team infiltrating the Ministry of Magic?" she asked.

The older of the Avalon reapers, Gavin Byrnes, glanced at the display of his soul phone then shook his head. Blond curls bounced across his muscular shoulders, poorly restrained by a leather tie. The younger knight, Kyla Phelps, was his opposite in every way―small where he was large, neat where he was unkempt, dark where he was light, serious where he was jolly.

Gavin Byrnes' personality was very much like Yoruichi Shihoin's―light-hearted and carefree until a mission demanded serious attention. Kyla Phelps reminded Yoruichi of her former lieutenant and now captain of Soul Society's Squad Two, Soi Fon―200 percent committed to her service to the exclusion of all other considerations.

"Nothin' so far," Gavin reported in a strong Irish brogue. Seeing the faint frown on Yoruichi's face, he hurried to reassure her. "Don' be aworryin' y'self. There's no reason a'tall fer it. The job went teh Team Nine. Senior Knight Campbell an' the reapers in her team know about gettin' inteh nearly all o' magical Britain's public buildin's."

"Oh, and why is that?"

Kyla answered in a smoother, more rounded and far southern English accent common in the town of Glastonbury (1), saying, "Just like your Soul Society, Avalon occasionally must cover up reaper and hollow sightings. We have contacts in the Ministry who routinely erase all evidence of reaper or hollow encounters. Whenever memories need to be modified, we have teams set to enter all of the main Ministry of Magic facilities, news agencies, magical neighborhoods, and main shopping districts."

"The few times somethin' got by us," Gavin grinned, "the sightin's show up as fantastic tales in some of their more ... entertainin' ... magazines. I love readin' the crumple-horned snorkack stories."

"That _would_ be your favorite," Kyla groused, "since you were the knight responsible for not covering it up completely."

"Ouch, woman! How was I t' be knowin' a wizard was hidin' in a nearby house an' saw the hollow afore I took care of it?" His grin widened. "That doesn't change the fact that theh story in the _Quibbler_ was funny! Me, a great snorkack hunter. I have a right to be proud. I gave it the crumpled horn, after all!"

-"Can we concentrate on the job at hand?" -"Pay attention to the job at hand, please."

Gavin blinked first at Yoruichi Shihoin's shadowed glower then at a matching scowl over Kyla Phelps' face. He shuddered and sweat-dropped―they were scarily similar!

"I'm going in alone," Yoruichi said. "If I'm not out by noon, Knight Byrnes is to go back to Camelot and report my status to Kuchiki-_taicho_. Knight Phelps, you will remain in this area and observe the house."

Gavin and Kyla both nodded their acceptance, with Gavin replying, "_Go mbeannaí Dia duit_, Lady Shihoin," and Kyla adding, "Orders received and understood."

"Well," Gavin Byrnes sighed and turned back toward the house, "we can't be blatherin' the whole day away. Since we didn't get here until nearly dawn, how do you be plannin' teh get close to the buildin' wi'out being seen?"

"Oh, that's easy," Yoruichi grinned, her golden eyes twinkling with gleeful anticipation. "They don't call me the goddess of flash step for nothing."

In an instant, Yoruichi Shihoin vanished, only to reappear crouched in the tall grass within ten feet of the house's southwestern side. She completed the move without rustling a single blade of grass between her start and end positions.

()()()()

_Okay._ Yoruichi settled into the correct mindset for the mission ahead. _Time to get down to business._

The stealth specialist examined the house, taking in more detail now that she was close enough to study it properly. In the faint light of pre-dawn, she found it in even worse condition than she'd originally thought. The structure occupied the tallest hill in the entire valley, overlooking the distant village of Little Hangleton. Most of its many windows were broken or boarded over. Curled and ragged tiles from the roof littered the landscape, and sickly ivy vines spread wild over every outside wall.

Using flash step to flit from one place of cover to another, she circled the building twice before settling on entry through a fourth floor window on the still heavily shadowed western side. She could reach the poorly boarded window by leaping from ground to kitchen firewood lean-to, to window gable to crumbling chimney.

The route she'd mapped was child's play even in her shinigami physical form; she'd made far more arduous climbs in Soul Society, Hueco Mundo, and Karakura town, just to name a few. By shifting to her alternate form of a black cat, however, she could negotiate the building with much greater stealth. She'd be less likely to be seen or noticed or to betray her presence with a squeaking floorboard, and she could complete the search that much faster.

Her cat senses were so much stronger, she might even locate the missing captain within minutes rather than hours.

Unable to take her clothing with her once the transformation was complete, Yoruichi Shihoin stripped down to the buff. She left everything neatly folded in a hole covered by a flat-topped, brownish-gray rock. To mark the location, she drew a tiny diamond with a plus-like kanji character at its center―the symbol of Hitsugaya-_taicho's_ Squad Ten―into the dirt directly beside her hiding place.

_For good luck._

Once certain all clothing and weapons were hidden but easily retrievable, she knelt down and triggered the transformation. Within a fraction of a second, the buxom, dark-skinned and totally naked woman was gone. In her place stood a small, slender black cat with short fur and unusually golden eyes.

Yoruichi opened all her feline senses, giving the area and all the windows facing her location a careful scrutiny. Convinced that no one had yet noted her presence, she sprang onto the rickety lean-to that was once used by the kitchen staff to shelter cords of firewood for the cooking ovens. She paused to see if her appearance brought any alarm. Seeing no dangers and hearing only the sibilant hiss of the wind through the dead grass, she finished her planned route and gained entry to the house through the chosen window.

She found herself in a dilapidated servants' bedroom. Long exposure to the elements through the broken and poorly boarded window had rotted away anything of value. The furniture's wood and large sections of the floor were holed by insects and rotten from the damp. Mold, mildew, mouse droppings, dust, and spider webs covered everything.

_There are advantages to my cat form,_ Yoruichi admitted as she fought the urge to sneeze, _and there are very distinct DISadvantages. Sense of smell in particular. This building REEKS of decay, blood, rodents, and God alone knows what else. I can almost SEE the negative black aura saturating this place._

_This is just the kind of out-of-the-way, dismal hellhole to hold a prisoner for questioning._

Thirty minutes passed while she roamed the top three floors, slowly working her way down to ground level. She'd heard voices somewhere in the building and smelled cheap liquor and stale tobacco smoke, but had yet to encounter a single live person.

_Plenty of ruined furniture, pests of the non-human variety, and rotting drapery, but still no sign of any people anywhere on the upper floors. This isn't looking good. If these terrorists had an important prisoner, you'd think there would be noticeable sentries and other safeguards. He might be in the basement area, but there still should be more guards._

_This doesn't feel right. It could it be a trap. It doesn't matter if it is or isn't, I have to risk it._

Yoruichi was halfway through the first floor, with only ground level and basement left to search, when two men stepped out of one of the rooms on the left side of the corridor. One was sandy-haired, tall, and beanstalk thin. The second was shorter, leaning towards a fat torso, with a thick beard and long brown hair pulled back in a low tail. Both wore black robes and carried liquor bottles in their hands as they staggered toward the stairway.

The black cat vanished into the shadows behind a broken, leaning grandfather clock. From that scant protection, Yoruichi listened closely at the two terrorists talked.

"Dunno why we're stuck hangin' around this dump of a house," the first, taller Death Eater complained.

"True nuff, Jake. Our Lord's never set one foot in the place since the Potter brat got away from the graveyard 'bout this same time last year."

_Damn it!_ Yoruichi watched the two Death Eaters stagger drunkenly down the squeaking stairs. She screamed with rage inside her own mind._ Avalon's information was wrong. Even with all the wards and security measures, this isn't where Riddle's hiding. It looks like he won't be back here anytime soon, if at all._

_The odds that he'd hold Captain Hitsugaya here aren't worth betting on. I have no choice but to complete the search. I doubt I'll find anything but better safe than sorry. When I'm done, I'll need to get back to Avalon headquarters as quickly as possible._

The black cat slinked down the stairs, hugging the wall to avoid making the stair steps squeak, creak or pop. Just to be thorough, she passed through as many of the remaining rooms and hallways as she could, including the basement, pausing periodically to sniff the air and to strain her hearing, searching for any scents or sounds that might or could be out of place. Other than a fully equipped torture chamber in the basement complete with a dozen cells―thankfully unoccupied at the moment―she found nothing worth reporting.

She ended her search in the room that might once have been a decent-sized library or large drawing room. Slipping through the broken glass of the French doors, she cat-footed it back to the west side of the house, where she quickly located her storage rock. Within thirty seconds, she had transformed back to her shinigami form and donned pants, backless halter top, and boots.

"Aw, why'd you go an' get dressed for? I was enjoying the view."

Hearing the unfamiliar voice, Yoruichi Shihoin spun around in a low crouch. A single male stood some twenty feet away, between her and the distant knoll where the Avalon knights waited. Burly and square-bodied, he emitted a barely leashed wildness. His aura was black, almost bestial in feel. Dressed all in dirty black leather, including a long duster over a plunging V-front vest without any shirt to cover his hairy chest, he moved like a stalking animal, prowling like a wolf around its cornered prey.

In the process of circling, he moved upwind. Even with her human body's lesser sense of smell, the man stank of blood, cheap whiskey, rancid sweat, unclean leather, and violence.

"Since there's no way in hell you c'd be carryin' a wand in that outfit, I'm goin' to say you're no witch, even with the whole cat thing," he remarked in a low, growling voice. "I been watchin' you for most of an hour, and I got ta admit, I'm curious. What're you looking for?"

"Nothing important," Yoruichi replied. _Is he telling the truth? Has he really been following me for an hour without me sensing him? Damn me to hell if he did for being careless._ "It isn't here, so I don't intend to hang around here much longer. I'm through with this place."

"Didn't your mum never tell you not to tell lies?" he countered, cracking his gnarly knuckles in happy anticipation of violence. "You got plenty of business left to finish. Like answerin' every question me, Fenrir Greyback, can think up. Who knows, we might find some real fun things to pass the time."

_Greyback. The rogue werewolf mentioned in last night's briefing. He'll be fast and strong, not an opponent to take likely, but I shouldn't have any trouble if I don't get careless._

Hoping to catch her opponent off-guard, Yoruichi exploded into action. She leaped high in the air and spun around, spanning her leg out and aiming her heel for the animal-man's head.

Unfortunately Greyback's senses were keener than she'd given him credit for. By the time she reached the spot where his head should have been, it was already gone. She slammed into the ground hard enough to jar her body from head to toe.

_How did he avoid me? I wasn't using shunpo speed, but it still should've been faster than he could have dodged!_

Greyback showed yellowed, pointed teeth in an evil parody of a grin. "Ahh, the little lady wants to play."

Expecting regular human speed, Yoruichi failed to elude the man's triple punch. The powerhouse blows knocked her off her feet to slide across the ground in a miniature fog of grass, dust and disturbed earth. Grass burns and stone bruises marred the flesh of her arms where she'd shielded her head and face. Even so, a nasty knot and bruise sprang up on her left jawline, a result of Greyback's rock-hard fists. Grit stung her eyes and, for a long moment, made breathing difficult.

Yoruichi regained her feet in time to duck beneath his follow-up punches. A punch of her own grazed his sparsely bearded jawline with little affect.

_How can he move that fast? He's human, but he's moving at near shunpo speed!_

"Stupid bitch. I'm a werewolf. You can't beat me with speed."

"Really? We'll see about that. _Shunpo!_"

Using full flash step, Yoruichi crossed the distance between them faster than the blink of an eye. Before the beastial man could recognize the danger, she landed four hard blows to his head, five to his chest, and a solid knee to the groin.

Fenrir Greyback groaned, wobbled on his feet, and toppled over. He tried twice more to stand up, but Yoruichi knocked him down again both times, easily keeping control of the downed werewolf.

She couldn't resist needling her fallen opponent just a little. "So much for werewolf speed."

"Too bad I didn't catch you ... during a full moon," he snarled through bloodied lips and badly swelling jaw and eyes. "I could've shown you a ... a real fight then."

Hearing shouts from the direction of the house, Yoruichi ducked beneath a red beam of light―most likely the stunner mentioned during the mission brief―and rolled clear of the animalistic madman. Unwilling to waste further time fighting, she shunpo'd away, letting herself be seen twice as she moved in the direction of Little Hangleton. Once certain her pursuers were headed in the wrong direction, she backtracked to the grove knoll where Byrnes and Phelps waited.

Gavin grinned in fierce amusement and said in Gaelic, "_Fillean meal ar an meallaire_, I see. _Maith thú_, Shihoin. Well done indeed!"

Kyla eyed the bruises and scrapes that dotted Yoruichi's dark skin. "Are you hurt?"

Yoruichi waved away the Avalon knight's concern. "I'm fine. Any news from the Ministry team?"

Gavin replied, "They've finished searching both the Ministry and St. Mungo's Hospital. Our contacts report no chary bustle, an' the search party found no trace of your missin' captain anywhere inside either building. They went so far azteh question both the Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and the head Auror Amelia Bones then fix their memories. If anyone in the magical government would know, odds are it'd be one o' those two. As best Knight Campbell can tell, the Ministry of Magic has no knowledge of or connection to Captain Hitsugaya."

"There may be a slim chance," Yoruichi reasoned out loud, "that either Riddle's terrorist group or the magical government have imprisoned him somewhere other than the buildings we've searched. I found no evidence of a current prisoner, though they have a horrendous torture chamber set up in the basement. The werewolf I fought outside wanted to know what I was searching for. If they had a prisoner anywhere on any of their properties, he'd never have asked that question."

The Shinigami ground her teeth together and concluded, "If Hitsugaya-_taicho_ is neither here nor a prisoner of the magical government, he's most likely being held at Hogwarts." Yoruichi slammed a clenched fist into the ground hard enough to bury it up to her wrist. "Damn it! An entire day, wasted!"

()()()()

**A/N:** The use of Glastonbury is an inside joke toward the Grim Reaper's Avalon. Avalon as it relates to the Arthurian legend became associated with Glastonbury Tor when monks from Glastonbury Abbey claimed to have discovered the mortal remains of King Arthur.

**DEFINITIONS:**

_Go mbeannaí Dia duit_ ― Irish Gaelic for May God bless you.

_Fillean meal ar an meallaire_ ― Irish Gaelic for evil returns to the evil doer.

_Maith thú_ ― Irish Gaelic for well done/way to go, etc.

_Onmitsukido_ ― Japanese for secret tactics, called Stealth Force in the English-dubbed anime. According to Bleach Wiki, "the Onmitsukido patrols and conducts surveillance in enemy territory and carries out top-secret operations, such as assassinations and the execution of Shinigami who have broken the law. If the Gotei 13 are considered an exterior guard, then the Onmitsukido is an interior, covert guard."

_Shunko_ ― Japanese for "flash cry," an advanced combination of hand-to-hand combat and kido. High spiritual pressure accumulates at the shoulders and back, disintegrating the fabric of any garments coving those areas. This is the reason for the backless halter-top worn under their regular clothing by Yoruichi Shihoin and Soi Fon, both experts in this technique.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

**A/N: just a note to help you keep track of the time. Toshiro was kidnapped on Friday evening. It is now Monday morning.**

**A special thank you to reviewer CressidaRene, for the idea to use Crookshanks. He's going to help me solve a major plot problem in the next few chapters. Arigato gosaimasu! (see, I DO listen to reviewers' suggestions! Hee)**

**This chapter is not beta'd so all errors are my own.**

Few, if any still living, knew her true name. Fewer still knew any details, large or small, of her past. In life, she had been Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the Four Founders. To all at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she was known simply as Ravenclaw's patron spirit, the Grey Lady.

Feeling a rare unrest in her soul, the Lady glided through the first year girls' dormitories, checking on her youngest 'claws. All slept snugly in their beds, as did the second and third years, though a few moved and muttered, sure signs that they soon would wake.

Sliding through the closed door of the fourth year girls' dormitory, she fully expected the fourth year dorm to be like the others. Instead, she stopped, shocked and dismayed to see three of the girls out of bed―not an offense in and of itself. What she found unbelievable was their actions. Before them lay the personal belongings of the last occupant of the room. By spell and manual means, they were shredding blankets, robes and footwear and applying itching powder to mismatched shoes.

"What folly is this?"

The three girls shrieked and leapt away, faces flushed or milky with fear and embarrassment. Wands were shoved behind their backs and they struggled to even look in the Lady's direction.

"Lady!" "It's the Grey Lady!" "Oh dear!"

Scowling darkly, the Grey Lady glided into reach of the indirect morning light from an open, westward-facing tower window. Beyond the fluttering curtains, well beyond the school grounds, lay a magnificent, panoramic view of snow-capped mountains.

"Once again, I ask...nay, I _demand_ an answer. What mischief goes on in this room?"

"Good morning, My Lady," a dreamy voice murmured.

The fourth student, who owned the destroyed belongings, rose from a bed missing any blanket or top sheet―both items being among the detritus on the floor, along with unraveled scarves and shredded clothing of all types. The girl raised the front hem of her sleeping gown and curtseyed to the ghostly visitor.

The spirit who was Helena Ravenclaw bowed her head regally to the one polite student. For a brief moment, her expression softened, a sympathetic light in her silver eyes. She turned her attention back to the culprits, her face once more hard with anger.

"You do not answer, yet mine own eyes see what has transpired. What say thee to justify your actions? ... Again, you say nothing, which is an answer in and of itself." The Lady pointed to the tallest of the three girls. "You will repair what cloth can be salvaged." She pointed to the next in line. "You will clean the shoes and other belongings of all malicious powders and restore her bed to a proper condition." To the third and last, she said, "You will remove all spells, enchantments, jinxes, hexes and the like that have been placed on this child's properties. I will also be reporting your actions to Filius Flitwick at the earliest opportunity."

To the bully closest to the victim in size, Helena commanded, "You. Provide her with clothing until her own can be salvaged or replaced." To the abused child, whom she recognized as Luna Lovegood, she said, "Dress and come with me, child. We will leave these miscreants to their labors."

Luna dressed as quickly as possible, putting on two shoes that had been cleaned of harmful powders and spells.

"Child, your shoes do not match."

Luna shrugged. "Their mates aren't here," she said. "Probably thrown out the window again."

"'Out the window'? So."

The Grey Lady glowered even harder at the guilty trio. She stared long and hard until Luna left the room and walked down the stairs.

Teenager and ghost entered an otherwise empty Ravenclaw common room, with its oval walls, blue and bronze tapestries, overstuffed arm chairs, and domed, star-painted ceiling. The spirit paused, deliberately blocking the student's path to the exit.

"On behalf of my mother, who so dearly loved her House, I give thee, child, my innermost apologies."

"I accept them most humbly, My Lady, even though they aren't really needed."

"Be that as it may, I find myself vexed with any who would deliberately tease or harm another. That is not a trait for which I wish my mother's House to hold renown."

"I don't mind, really," Luna said. "They can't hurt me if I don't let them. Material belongings are meaningless against my own pride. As long as I don't care about their actions, they can't really touch me."

The Grey Lady smiled upon her young companion. "You have done nothing to deserve their malicious attention."

"That is true, I suppose," Luna admitted. She shrugged. "They hurt themselves far more than they hurt me."

"Your point is logical and applicable to the situation. However, it does not change the facts as I see them. This House was founded to nurture those who possess intelligence, creativity, learning, and wit. Their actions this day reflect none of these honorable traits. Your pride may not be battered or bruised, but mine own heart is outraged by what I have seen this morn." She pinned Luna in place with a piercing stare. "I strongly suspect this is no new deviltry, but a chronic, insidious thing that has existed since your first days at Hogwarts."

Luna shrugged again, unable to deny the Lady's sound reasoning.

"Four years, and you have told no one?"

"A few other students know. They help me gather my things at the end of the year."

"These students, be any in the House of the Eagle?"

"Unfortunately no, My Lady."

"Why have you told none of the school staff?"

"What could they do-scold them, assign detentions, take away points or library privileges? It might help in the short term, but the part of their spirit that enjoys such petty teasing wouldn't change. Once the staff move on to other things, the teasing would start again, perhaps even worse than before. Currently, I can honestly say that their pranks, while vindictive and constant, haven't drawn blood. Missing shoes can be found or replaced. Soiled clothes, robes, and undergarments can be washed. Again, it's all a matter of how much I _let_ them harm me. In this way, I win."

The Grey Lady laid a ghostly hand against the side of her little 'claw's golden hair. Never had she wished harder for the ability to touch, to interact physically in the living world. She ached to give the child a comforting embrace.

"You, Luna Lovegood, are the epitome of what it means to be a Ravenclaw, and I am most pleased with thee. Call upon me as you need or will. If it be within my power, I will aid you as best I may."

"Thank you." Luna looked down at her mismatched shoes, an uncharacteristically hesitant pinch to her eyebrows and shadows in her eyes. "There is one thing, Lady, if you're allowed. Something strange is happening here at Hogwarts. I'm not sure of all the details, only that it shouldn't be transpiring at all. Bad things will happen to this school if they're allowed to continue. Can you...can you tell me anything that might help?"

The ghost of Helena Ravenclaw answered in a soft, grave voice. "I too am aware of dark occurrences within these walls. From the lowest dungeons to the tallest tower, every stone cries out against the act. We spirits feel it in our deepest souls. We would halt them were it not for the geas placed upon any spirit who deigns to dwell within this castle."

"I understand. Thank you anyway."

The ghost moved out of the way, freeing the path to the exit. "Off with you, child. Break your fast and enjoy what will be a beautiful morn."

"I'll do that, thank you, Lady Helena."

Lady Ravenclaw raised an eyebrow and blinked in surprise. A tiny chuckle escaped her silvery lips. "You know who I am?"

Luna answered with a smile. "Since my first month here."

The Lady laughed, this time a carefree, honest sound of merriment. "Again, you are a treasured daughter of my mother's House. Well done, Luna Lovegood. Well done indeed!"

()()()()

Albus Dumbledore stood at the window in his tower office and stared out at the tangle of students. Every half-minute or so, he would raise the china cup to his lips and sip the cherry cordial prepared for him by his personal house elf, Babby. The fruity, sweet, aromatic liqueur did wonders for reviving his sleep-deprived senses and restoring some vitality to his aging body.

_How long has it been since I've had a full night's sleep? I can't remember. Between avoiding Harry because of the link he shares with Tom Riddle, to staying one step ahead of Dolores Umbridge and Cornelius Fudge, to Thursday's battle at the Ministry, I haven't had a decent night's rest in months._

_The powers of the parasite inside the homunculus may be the weapon we need to defeat Voldemort once and for all. It may well be 'the power he knows not.' I must obtain this power in order for Harry to fulfill his destiny. I __will__ obtain the power no matter what it takes, no matter what I have to do._

A forlorn sound drew his attention away from the outside view. Turning, he studied the magnificent red-and-gold phoenix roosting on his golden perch.

"Why so sad, my friend?" Fawkes flared his wings and trilled once before settling back down. "I shouldn't have to ask, is that what you mean? Ahhhh, you object to what's happening in the sub-basement." Fawkes bobbed his head once. "I don't like it either, old friend. I have no choice. What has begun cannot be undone."

Fawkes chirr-clicked an unmistakable objection but Dumbledore ignored his familiar.

The wards told him that someone had activated the gargoyle that guarded the stairway to his office. A glance at the Tell-Me-Who mirror over the door revealed the dark, glowering form of Severus Snape ascending the stairs. The potions master entered without so much as a perfunctory knock.

"Ah, welcome Severus." A flash of red caught the Headmaster's eye. Scarlet stains marred the younger man's otherwise white shirt cuffs. "Dear boy, you seem to have come into contact with something rather unpleasant. Might I recommend cleaning that before someone notices it? After all, blood has an unmistakable color and scent."

"Such stains are unavoidable, considering the actions we currently take," Snape said even as he waved his wand over first one cuff then the other. The blood stains vanished.

"Much better. So, Severus, how are things progressing?"

Snape's already sour expression changed to a black glower. "They are not, Headmaster. He has yet to utter a single word other than something defiant, and my attempts to heal his more serious injuries have proven surprisingly ineffective. Something about the homunculus body resists magical healing."

"And yet," Dumbledore noted, "I have noted a tendency of the body to stop bleeding very quickly, for swelling to subside and wounds to close."

"He does seem to have a swift healing factor," Snape agreed. "We must be careful not to exceed his limits, since we cannot repair the damage we, ourselves, have inflicted."

"_We_ cannot, but perhaps–" Dumbledore paused a long moment in deep thought before he turned back to his phoenix familiar's perch and said, "Fawkes, my friend. I have need of your wondrous heal–"

The red and gold phoenix reared up on his perch, spread his wings as wide as they would go, flapped once, and sang. The two wizards cringed and shuddered at the angry descant, well aware of the undertone of sadness and disappointment that tinged the melody. For the first time in his life, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore experienced the dark side of his familiar's song.

The magnificent phoenix gave the humans one final avian glare before he vanished in a swirl of smoke and flame.

()()()()

At shortly before one o'clock that afternoon, Luna decided to take a relaxing walk around the lake. She needed time and space to think over the events of the past few days. An encounter with Harry Potter just before lunch brought home to her how serious a matter they, the wizarding world, faced. Dumbledore and Snape's actions had long-reaching and unforeseeable effect on those around them, most notably the alteration of Harry Potter's memories.

_Harry certainly won't like it when he finds out what Professors Dumbledore and Snape have done. No, he won't be happy at all. I could tell him about last night, but what would that gain? Harry would go off to confront the Headmaster, get obliviated again, and might even bring attention to me. If I'm going to be of any use to anyone, I have to stay free, unnoticed, and un-obliviated._

The Grey Lady was right―the weather outside was glorious. It begged that she skip through tall grass and smell the flowers. For this reason and more, she headed toward the exit.

She stopped when she caught sight of Professor Dumbledore coming her way. All around them, students ran around in pairs and groups, many of them headed out the door. Some called greetings to the elderly Headmaster, while others paid him no mind whatsoever. Of Luna, only one student greeted her―calling her Looney―as he ran past.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Lovegood," the Headmaster greeted her with a bright twinkle in his eyes. "Where are you off to this fine day?"

As they sometimes did, the words came to Luna without conscious thought. "I'm meeting a new friend outside. We need to have a long talk."

"Ahhh, it's still a wonderful day outside, despite the afternoon heat. I hope you enjoy your time outdoors. I imagine you're excited to be going home in a few days."

"As a matter of fact, I am," Luna admitted. "Father and I plan on another search for the crumple-horned snorkack. This time, we're going to Sweden."

"That sounds wonderful, dear girl."

In an unusually serious voice, Luna said, "Headmaster Dumbledore, I feel I should warn you. The infestation of nargles you're experiencing is very serious. It might even be life-threatening. I'll be honest with you, sir, I have never seen such an extensive infestation in all my life. You should see about getting rid of them as quickly as possible."

"Indeed. I will give it much thought and attention. Please excuse me, I'm late for a meeting."

"Of course, sir. Please remember what I said. It's very important."

"I will, Ms. Lovegood. Thank you."

Luna sighed as the Professor continued on his way, headed toward the stairs that led to the dungeons. He hadn't listened and would not turn away from his path, despite her warnings. She gave a second sigh, this one in pity of the deluded, possibly senile old gentleman with whom she'd just conversed.

Something moved around her legs. Fur tickled her shins.

Luna looked down to see an orange, bottlebrush tail of something stropping her legs beneath the hem of her borrowed robes.

She smiled and lifted the hem of the robe to better see the newcomer.

"Hello, Crookshanks."

Luna looked down at the ginger tom. The thick-furred, orange feline looked rattier than normal, shedding the last of his winter coat in unsightly tangled clumps. His squashed face looked like he'd run nose-first into a stone wall.

He looked up at Luna and meowed.

"I haven't seen you for quite some time," she said. "Are you here to welcome our new friend, too?" The tom cat meowed low and long. "Ahhh, yes. We shouldn't waste time. Thank you for reminding me. Shall we continue?"

Crookshanks merped twice and followed the odd Ravenclaw through the doors and away from Hogwarts.

()()()()

Yoruichi Shihoin approached Hogwarts with the greatest care. The mission brief could only report that powerful and ancient wards protected the school and its immediate environs, though this side of the lake, farthest from the castle, seemed to be outside their range. Unlike the Ministry of Magic, Avalon had never been able to get anyone into Hogwarts. The few times they tried, members of the faculty immediately appeared to investigate the incursion.

_How I'm going to get inside when all of Avalon's reapers have failed is anyone's guess. I can't say whether my being in cat form will make any difference, but I have to try._

The day was bright and hot. By her count, approximately a hundred students were outside. Some swam in the lake, others reclined under trees, and a few...rode flying brooms? She'd been told of this method of travel, but to actually see it was something else entirely.

Still, she'd seen stranger things in her life, not the least of which was hollows and the surreal atmosphere of Hueco Mundo. She noted then dismissed the flying students and set about planning her route into the castle.

_Someone's on this side of the lake, headed my way._

In cat form, Yoruichi sat on a tall rock, appearing to be nothing more than a slender, short-haired black stray. A blonde-haired student skipped up the lakeside path, followed by the ugliest orange cat she'd ever seen. The were-cat tensed and watched the pair carefully. How will the male cat react to a strange female in his territory? In her current form, the tom was significantly larger and outweighed her by at least five kilograms.

Yoruichi blinked gold eyes in surprise when the girl and the cat stopped right beside her. The girl reached out and scratched behind the were-cat's ears. Yoruichi was feline enough to lean into the girl's hand and purr madly. Oh, yes, this girl knew cats!

The ginger tom sat down and scratched at the tangled ruff around his neck. Loose orange cat hair floated away on the warm, brisk June wind.

"It's about time you got here," the girl said. "He needs help desperately, but I can't find where they've hidden him. Maybe you can do it. Crookshanks," she pointed to the tom cat, "can help."

Yoruichi froze, golden eyes wide and ears flattened in surprise. The girl spoke to her as though she _knew_ the black feline was something other than an ordinary cat.

_What on earth–_

"Well? Aren't you going to say something?"

_She knows I can speak?_ "_Ahno_ ... what should I say?"

"Your name would be welcome. I'm Luna Lovegood, by the way. Some of the other students here call me Looney Lovegood. I find that funny sometimes."

"I'm ... Yoruichi."

"A pleasure to meet you, Yoruichi," the girl said, adding a small curtsey to the greeting. The cat couldn't help but notice that the girl pronounced the Japanese name correctly on the first try. "Is there any particular reason why a female in cat-form talks with a male human's voice?"

Yoruichi shrugged one shoulder. "No reason. It just happens that way."

"How like a feline, contrary in everything. It suits you."

"Thank you. _Ahno_ ... how did you know I was coming?"

"I just know things sometimes. You want...correction, you _need_ to get into Hogwarts to search for your friend. There are two ways to get inside the wards. You can either swim deep in the lake until you reach the other side―I wouldn't recommend that way, since the giant squid and the merfolk guard that vulnerable access. The second way requires someone to transfigure you into something that the wards won't read as living or dangerous, and have that someone carry you in."

"Giant squid? Merfolk? Transfigure?"

"Yes, mermen and mermaids live in Hogwarts Lake. In exchange for a safe, bountiful place to live, they protect the water access to the castle. Same for the giant squid. I've named him Harvey. As for transfigure, that's a way for a witch or wizard to transform one thing into something totally different. I do admit, I'm only a fourth year student and I can't perform any complicated transfiguration, but I've been transfiguring things into bits of clothing for some time now, so that shouldn't prove too difficult."

"Wait! I haven't agreed to anything yet!"

"Your concern is understandable but entirely unnecessary. I know what I'm doing. And you need to get into the castle as soon as possible. You can't even wait until darkness. You need to get inside now, today. The sooner the better."

"How can you know this?" Yoruichi demanded.

"Like I said, I just know. Like yesterday evening, when your friend tried so hard to escape."

Yoruichi tensed and stood, the hair on her spine standing straight up. "So Toshiro Hitsugaya _is_ here! He tried to escape?"

The girl nodded. "Yes, but unfortunately, he didn't follow my advice and trust Harry, so they caught him again. Now Harry can't remember what he did yesterday evening, and I don't know where the Headmaster and the Potions professor have taken your friend. As I said earlier, maybe with Crookshanks to help you―" the squash-faced cat meowed in agreement, "―you can find where they're holding him. He needs help. Desperately."

()()()()

**A/N:** The rating will be going up in the next chapter. A reviewer rightly pointed out that torture scenes do not belong in a "T" rating.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

**A/N: I'll leave my rating at T, at least for now. While dramatic, with limited torture scenes, nothing in this chapter truly warrants a Mature rating. There is actually less blood and violence than in a typical episode of Bleach.**

**Regarding the Hogwarts house ghosts' names, only Lady Helena (the Grey Lady) and Sir Nicholas (Nearly Headless Nick) are officially named in the HP books. For story balance, I have given names to the Bloody Baron and the Fat Friar.**

_I recall thinking that my situation could be worse. Well ... it is. From the look on my tormentor's face, it's not about to get any better._

Except for the unending demands of his captors, Toshiro Hitsugaya heard only harsh, panting breaths and the faint _plop_ of each new blood drop in the growing pool beneath his suspended body. The broken bones in both hands, which had been encased in some kind of shimmering blue energy to prevent any further use of kido, ground against one another, as did each broken rib with every stuttered breath. His body twisted or swayed with each new trauma or tension, putting an agonizing strain on his shoulders and arms.

The stagnant air stank of iron, fear and other equally unpleasant things.

The greasy-haired one stood before him, red-faced, and yelled, "What are you? Tell me, you little brat!"

"Go ... to hell."

"After you! _INCENDIO!"_

Understanding the name of the Latin spell, the shinigami captain closed his eyes and braced for the fiery agony.

The cell door opened moments before Hitsugaya's torturer aimed his wand and roared the curse. Dumbledore hurried inside, barely in time to deflect the grossly overpowered flame curse that would have crisped Hitsugaya's body. Instead, a section of stone wall pitted and blackened under the resulting fireball and the bed crumbled to ash within seconds.

"No, Severus! A spell that powerful would critically injure or outright kill him! Remember what we discussed this morning!"

Panting and flushed with anger, the potions master took a deliberate step back and visibly fought to control his temper. A red flush pockmarked his normally sallow skin.

Hitsugaya shivered and fought to control his fear. _Kami. Kami, that was far too close._

"I remember, Headmaster. It's maddening! He hasn't said a word except to challenge me to do my worst. He is exceedingly stubborn. I never believed I would meet someone even more arrogant and stubborn than _Potter_!"

Toshiro watched through swollen, blackened eyes as Dumbledore rested a concerned hand on the younger wizard's shoulder, a glitter of concern and understanding in his gaze. "This is becoming entirely too personal for you, my boy. That is enough for today. Go and rest. I'll take over."

The dark one asked, "Are you certain, Headmaster? I could stay just in case―"

"I'll be fine. Go and rest. You can return tonight, say around ten?"

"Very well, Headmaster. Summon me if you need me."

"I will. Thank you, my friend."

Dumbledore spelled the younger wizard's clothing clean of evidence and shooed him toward the door. Snape gave Toshiro a final, long glare, passed control of the wandless hover charm over to Dumbledore, and left.

The Headmaster sighed and turned back to his prisoner.

In an overcharged, congenial tone, the old man said, "Severus tells me that during your short time of freedom, you referred to him as a 'stupid mortal human.' This would seem to indicate that you are neither mortal nor human. Could you explain that reference?"

_Once again,_ Toshiro flayed himself within his own mind,_ my temper and big mouth get me into trouble._

Hitsugaya met his stare with a frigid promise of retribution but said nothing.

"Well then. For lack of a better term, since you will not let me know otherwise, I will refer to you as 'child,' since that is what you appear to be and it is a term that, as Headmaster of a school, I am most comfortable using. Child, I'm sorry that I must do this to you, that we cannot find a more congenial agreement to exchange information and knowledge."

_I will not object to his use of the word 'child'. I will not give him the satisfaction of any response except defiance and contempt. I will not react to his obvious attempt to rile me._

"Please understand. I am in charge of an organization that is currently fighting a war against a dark lord with a frightful and insatiable lust for power. Only one living being can stop him, and I must aid this young man to fulfill his destiny. To do that, I need every advantage, every scrap of information, every ability that I can obtain. However much we both wish it to be otherwise, you possess all of that ― advantage, information, and ability. I swear to you, whatever you give me will be used only for good, for the welfare of an entire culture."

"I hang in the air of this foul prison cell ... the floor soaked in my blood ... my bones broken and skin burned ... the flesh flayed from my back ... my face and body swollen and bruised from spells and beatings ― and only now do you think to ask for my cooperation," Toshiro whispered his voice hoarse and dull.

"I admit, I have made some regrettable mistakes," Dumbledore admitted, his expression determined but contrite, "but you must understand my point of view. Your magnificent fighting ability and great power are different from anything we have ever seen. It is somewhat frightful to watch. To be honest, I feared that you and others like you would be an additional danger to my people, a danger I could not risk."

"I 'must' do nothing ... except defy you ... to my last breath."

"This doesn't have to continue. We can make a pact, you and I. We can end this distasteful pursuit and agree to help one another."

Toshiro scoffed as best he could through cracked and bleeding lips. Blood gathered on his jaw from slowly oozing cuts and one borderline serious head wound, falling in steady, large drops.

"'Mistakes.'" He sneered. "'Distasteful pursuit.' That ... is what you call deliberate torture?" Toshiro spat the blood from his mouth, purposely aiming for Dumbledore's bright purple and yellow robes. The bright red stood in stark contrast on the wizard's long white beard. "My answer ... has not changed ... and never will."

"Ahhh." Dumbledore looked down, his countenance both sad and disappointed. "The 'go to hell' of which you are so fond."

"You remember."

"That is your final answer?" Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Very well then. We shall continue. _Flagello._"

()()()()

Lady Helena Ravenclaw, the Grey Lady, pondered long and hard on the events she'd witnessed in the fourth year girls' dormitory that morning. She even went so far as to consult the Hogwarts Spirit Council for their advice. An overwhelming majority of the castle specters recommended speaking to Filius Flitwick, however, the diminutive Head of Ravenclaw was temporarily out of the castle on an errand to help Professor McGonagall, who was still recovering from her injuries.

The alternative was to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore. Despite the Bloody Baron's pessimistic comment―_"The old fool is too busy with his current 'hobby' to do his duty to the school"_―she found the advice to be sound.

Lady Ravenclaw flowed through the door to find an empty chair behind the disorganized desk. A warm, early summer breeze flowed through two open windows, creating a draft that rustled lose parchment and fluttered the curtains. Bright sunlight dappled the floor in golden squares of light while dust motes floated through the sunbeams like scatterings of fairy dust.

"Headmaster, are you here?"

Receiving no reply, the ghost floated further into the chamber and bowed a greeting to Fawkes, who responded with a low, sad descant. Ignoring the slumbering images of former headmasters in the dozens of paintings that covered every alcove and shelf-free section of wall space, she moved closer to the magical bird and offered him a sad smile.

"Dear Fawkes," Lady Helena said to the phoenix, "you are as troubled and conflicted as we spirits. If you cannot turn him from this slippery path, what chance have we? I admit, I came here to discuss a matter concerning my fourth year Ravenclaws, but seeing you so distressed, I find the petty machinations of fourteen-year-old girls to be unworthy of attention."

The Lady tensed and shivered, her hair floating on a spectral wind. She hugged herself tight and looked around the cluttered, innocent office.

"What is this ... that I feel? Something famil-(gasp) ... how can this be?"

Fawkes trilled a five-note scale; an upsweep on the end made it sound very much like a question.

Lady Helena didn't answer. Instead, she hurried to the window and stared out across the Hogwarts grounds. Within her view, dozens of students enjoyed a perfect Monday afternoon. Angled sunlight shimmered off the windblown surface of the lake, the banks of which were lined with laughing teenagers who swam, dove, or sunbathed. The sky was a flawless blue, unbroken by even a wisp of cloud.

Nothing in the vista explained the sudden sense of a new and dangerous presence inside the castle walls. A supportive trill from the phoenix failed to lift the dread from her heart.

Lady Helena flowed through the door and down the spiral stairs. She hurried down corridors, through floors and walls as fast as her ghostly body would allow. As she approached the main entry hall of the castle, three other ghosts converged on her from separate directions.

"You feel it as well, dear lady?" the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, asked.

Lady Helena nodded. "Someone―or _something_―dangerous has entered the castle. How is it that the wards gave no warning? They yet give no evidence of the intruder, even though we ghosts can sense its presence."

"Only one such creature exists to raise these sensations in beings like ourselves," Lord Joseph Fitzhugh-Wallace, the Bloody Baron, said. "Under ordinary circumstances, I would most logically ask, how could a Taker of Souls be at Hogwarts? As the Lady says, the wards are unaccountably silent."

Friar Gregory Simms replied, "But these are not ordinary circumstances. The visitor must be connected to the poor, bedeviled soul who resides in the lowest dungeons of this castle. He, too, is a Taker, after all."

"My question remains," the Grey Lady said. "How did a grim reaper enter the castle without first passing through a dozen different wards? Never in the history of this school has this happened. The fact that no member of the faculty has appeared to investigate is most troublesome."

"There is but one answer." The Baron's voice fell even deeper, into a deliberately ominous timber. "It had help. Someone associated with Hogwarts, either in innocence or through guile, helped the Taker to enter the school grounds."

The quartet of silver spirits passed along empty corridors, ghostly senses alert for the intruder. Along the way, Peeves the poltergeist came across the foursome and fell in behind them, cackling and baying like a hound at a hunt.

"What business calls the House ghosts, Peevesy wants to know! Oh, pleeeeeeze tell sweet, innocent little Peevesy what you hunt?" Since the Bloody Baron was one of the few who scared the pranking poltergeist, he turned to that particular ghost and added, "Peeves can help, your worshipfulness!"

"Go away, little pest," Sir Nicholas growled at the annoying little man, his voice missing its usual jovial tone.

Within fifteen minutes, their search brought them to the corridor leading to the Ravenclaw common room.

A single student stood in the hallway. Windblown blonde hair and guileless blue eyes met their gaze without any hint of subterfuge or guilt. In her arms she carried an unfamiliar black cat with golden eyes, while the more familiar Crookshanks sat on the floor beside her left foot.

"Where is the reaper, girl?"

()()()()

Luna Lovegood blinked in surprise and leaned away from the menacing shade of the Bloody Baron. Behind him floated the three other House ghosts and one annoying poltergeist. Even the normally jovial Fat Friar was uncommonly grim-faced.

"The who?" she asked.

"Play not dumb to me," the Baron growled, his voice gravelly and bass with strong emotions. "You know of whom I speak."

"Do not berate one of my children, Baron," the Grey Lady warned. To Luna, she said in a softer but equally intense voice, "Luna, child. There is a new presence in the castle, one to whom we wish most mightily to speak. We sense it is very close. Do you know where this being hides?"

"Well..."

"So much for the idea of hiding in plain sight." The black cat leapt from Luna's arms and stood on the floor in front of the spirits. "I am the one you're looking for."

The slender cat morphed and grew into a naked woman with long purple hair, mocha skin and golden eyes.

The spirits stared, startled.

Yoruichi snickered and said, "It never gets old."

Luna handed over a small pile of clothing that she'd been carrying under the cat.

"While you're getting dressed, I'll perform the introductions!" Luna chirped. "These are the four house ghosts―the Grey Lady for Ravenclaw, the Bloody Baron for Slytherin, Nearly Headless Nick for Gryffindor, and the Fat Friar for Hufflepuff. The little green man floating behind them is Peeves. He's a sometimes rather annoying little poltergeist, but he does have his moments ... occasionally. Everyone, this is Lady Yoruichi, who is a unique spirit with a werecat form. Yoruichi, they seem rather insistent to meet you. I can't imagine why."

"Why is simple enough," the Bloody Baron said. He stared at Yoruichi with a hard, unyielding expression. "You are a Taker of Souls. A grim reaper. Every ghost in the castle can feel your presence."

Yoruichi tensed at this unwelcome bit of news. "Will any of them betray me to Dumbledore?"

Sir Nicholas shook his head. "No, Lady Yoruichi. The Baron has asked the Hogwarts ghosts to come to one of us for any strange or unusual happenings. So long as your rescue attempt brings no harm to either the school or its students, we will not interfere with your mission."

"Why did you sense me but not Toshiro Hitsugaya? We're both have captain-level spiritual pressure."

"We do sense his presence, but his power is weakened," the Baron said, "and has been bound by the Headmaster. Yours is not."

"Please," Yoruichi said with uncommon seriousness. "Help me to save him."

"Lady Yoruichi, what you ask is impossible," Baron Fitzhugh-Wallace said.

Lady Helena carried it a step further. "We are bound to never betray the headmaster or the school itself. We are conflicted in this matter-to help the Headmaster harms the school, yet to help the school we must go against the Headmaster. We all would help you were it possible. What they are doing vanished from our world hundreds of years ago. His actions are inconceivable to us. Long has it been since a headmaster has done something this vile."

"All in the name of 'the greater good'." Friar Gregory sighed and shook his head. "Ahhh, dear me. No good ever comes from cruelty, however well-meaning the purpose."

The shinigami's expression darkened. "That doesn't bode well for Toshiro Hitsugaya."

The Baron said, "All we can offer is this: Though you may excel in the arts of both stealth and battle, you will not be able to find the place where the evil deeds take place. You will require someone magical to breach the defenses. Even this slight piece of information is most difficult to speak aloud. I can say no more."

Luna waved a hand in the air. "I'll help." _Meyowl._ "Crookshanks wants to help, too!"

Yoruichi smiled at the teenage girl and nodded. "I welcome it."

"I know you ghosts can't tell us where he is," Luna reasoned, "but would it hurt if ... well, if you visited him? Encouraged him by letting him know help is coming? Maybe ... let us know how he's doing?"

"I will go."

The three male ghosts stared, eyes wide and jaws dropped.

"Do please close your mouths," the Grey Lady requested. "Gaping like landed fish is most unseemly."

"Helena," the Baron scowled, "you cannot be serious."

"I am most decidedly so."

"You know something of what is happening in the hi―_ah!_" The geas activated to stop the ghost from revealing the hidden dungeon to Yoruichi. Gasping, he shivered, recovered, and tried to be diplomatic. "Such things are not suitable for a fine lady's sensibilities."

"Then I am not a 'fine lady,'" Helena countered. "A member of my House is involved in this matter," she pointed to Luna Lovegood, "so it falls to me to investigate."

"By that logic," Sir Nicholas said, "I have an equal right. Remember what they did last night to young Mr. Potter."

"The damage to young Harry Potter is already done. The Headmaster has no reason to further alter the boy's memories. Luna, however, is not so fortunate. I do this to protect a child of my house," Helena insisted. "Should the living humans discover that Luna aided the reaper's entrance to this castle, at the very least she would face obliviation. To a Ravenclaw, memory and knowledge are sacrosanct. Bad enough that it happened to one student. I will not allow it to happen to another. I will do everything in my power to protect this girl from anyone who would tamper with her mind."

"Very well," the Baron begrudgingly agreed. "However, I will not let you go alone."

()()()()

Despite her brave words, Lady Helena Ravenclaw approached the bottom-most Hogwarts dungeon with dread and trepidation. In her thousand years of both life and death, she had seen inquisitorial acts of violence, especially early in her unlife, when such things were commonplace in both the magical and the non-magical worlds. She positively dreaded seeing what she _knew_ was happening in the depths of her beloved Hogwarts.

"It is not too late to turn back," the Bloody Baron said.

"Yes, Joseph, it is. This is something I must do. For Luna, for Harry, for the tormented soul waiting ahead."

"He is a reaper, Helena. Don't lose sight of that fact. His kind take away our right to remain active in this world."

"With good reason, Baron, despite being unnecessary. Magical ghosts do not become monstrous beasts that raze and murder. Muggle ghosts do not have the protection provided by a magical heritage. Were it not for the reapers, however much we might fear them, the world would be overrun with these hideous creatures."

"This I understand," the Baron admitted. "It does not make it any easier to help the Takers. Beware, Helena. We skirt dangerously close to the limits of our geas."

The pair of ghosts, trailed by the ever-mischievous and curious poltergeist, flowed through the door and into the lowermost dungeon corridor, spectral eyes unaffected by the inky shadows. To their right, part of the wall and one door had been spelled to allow someone in the hallway to observe the happenings inside the prison cell.

Lady Helena stiffened her resolve and faced the door.

"A few words from you could end this sordid thing," the old wizard's voice carried through the bespelled wall, tinged with a hint of impatience. "If you tell me your name―that's all I ask, your name―I will remove the supersensory spell. It will ease your suffering ten-fold, and all you must do is tell me your name."

The child-sized prisoner glowered but said nothing.

"Tell me where you are from―country or city will do―and I will give you food and water. As an additional reward, I will also allow you a short respite from other questioning. Such a simple thing, a single word answer, will gain so much!"

The reaper shook his head and continued to glare daggers.

"_Obscuro._"

A blindfold appeared over the prisoner's eyes. For the briefest instant, his expression altered. The defiance and rage vanished, to be replaced with surprise and even a tinge of fear. His head moved left and right, listening for movement.

Dumbledore silenced his step and moved behind his captive. A thin ribbon of ember-colored sorcerous energy flowed from the tip of his wand. Without warning, he brought the pulsing line down on shoulders already crisscrossed with cuts and welts.

Fractured screams filled the air.

Helena moaned and closed her eyes. The Bloody Baron muttered an archaic expletive but did not look away.

"Oh, Joseph," the Grey Lady sobbed into the Baron's ghostly shoulder, taking comfort from the arms that held her tight. "What he does is ... is ... is so very _wrong!_ In the distant past such methods were necessary to ensure the safety of the school, but the victims were unfailingly guilty of some crime or treason. That a Headmaster of my mother's legacy could even _think_ to perform such villainy upon an innocent soul merely for the sake of 'information' shatters my mind! I must speak with the child, let him know that he is not alone. I cannot act to free him, but I can bring him some small hope and comfort."

"We can do nothing while Dumbledore is in the room," the Baron stated. "We need a distraction."

Helena blinked and looked up, renewed hope in her eyes. Her gaze followed his, to the floating poltergeist who watched the scene in the room while picking his bulbous nose.

"Peeves."

The little man snapped to attention. "Yes, your most wonderful Bloodyness!"

"Do your worst to the Headmaster. Get him out of the room for as long as you can. Go."

The Poltergeist answered with a gleeful cackle and a circular swoop in the air before her. The little man in the brightly colored and mismatched clothes darted away, still giggling, and burst through the transparent wall and into the cell. Lord Joseph and Lady Helena watched as Peeves slammed his entire body through that of the Headmaster, leaving behind a masterpiece of ectoplasmic slime.

Dumbledore spluttered and spit, trying to free his eyes, nose and mouth of the sticky green residue. Peeves had done his work well, covering the Headmaster head to toe in the thick, gelatinous goo.

The wizard raised his slime-covered wand, intending to scourgify away the mess. Peeves darted in, snatched the wand and quite literally swallowed it.

The instant Dumbledore's attention strayed, all the active spells―specifically the conjured blindfold, the supersensory spell, and the wandless hover charm―ended. The small, battered figure crumbled to a shuddering heap on the cold stone floor. A strangled cry escaped despite his best efforts to remain silent. A spreading pool of blood gathered beneath him from the slashes across his chest, back, and arms.

"Peeves! Give it back! You know it's illegal for inhuman creatures to possess a wizard's wand."

"Heady Heady Headymastery has gone to Headymaster's head! Want wand? Come and get it, Dumblydore! You must catch Peevesy first! Hee hee heeeee wheeeeeee!"

Peeves sailed through the cell wall to the right of the door. More mucus slid slowly toward the floor.

"Peeves! Get back here this instant. Return my wand!"

The poltergeist stuck his head and shoulders back in, razzed the elderly wizard, made farting sounds with hands in his armpits, and vanished again, cackling the entire time.

An instant before Dumbledore opened the door with a wave of wandless magic, The Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron faded from sight through the far corridor wall. While Peeves led the Headmaster on a long and furious chase, the two ghosts returned to the corridor.

"I must comfort him as I can," Lady Helena whispered.

Though his expression was stormy with objection, Baron Joseph said, "I will stand watch. Be quick, Helena. We have no idea how long Peeves can keep him occupied. The Headmaster may return at any moment."

Lady Helena Ravenclaw smiled her thanks to her former beau. Her expression firmed as she flowed into the room and hurried to the young man who lay on the bare floor, broken and momentarily forgotten by his tormenter.

She knelt beside the youth. Tears glistened on her spectral cheeks. Ghostly skirts puddled gracefully around her like heavily layered, delicate gauze, dimming the unsightly splatters of blood that stained a large section of the stone floor. A silvery hand hovered over his blood-soaked hair as she yearned to offer physical comfort.

Swelling and bruises tried to hide the turquoise eyes that tipped up to meet Lady Helena's silver gaze.

"Have no fear, young reaper," the lady whispered. "I bring you a message of comfort and strength. Know that you are not alone here. Your friend Lady Yoruichi is in the castle. She works hard to find you."

He blinked. Stared. Blinked again. At last the words seemed to sink into his agonized mind.

"Yo ... ru ... i-chi? Shihoin ... is h-here?"

"Yes. She is in the castle and searches for you even now."

Panicked desperation deepened his scream-broken voice. "Please ... help her ... f-f-find me."

Lady Helena shook her head, her heart heavy with regret.

"I cannot act directly against either the school or the Headmaster, but there are others who can, and they help her even now. Take heart and be strong. Help comes."

As consciousness slipped away, he whispered, "Help ... comes."

()()()()

**TRANSLATION:**

Incendio - flame curse

Flagello - whip, lash, scourge

Obscuro - creates a blindfold


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

**A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than recent installments and has not been beta'd, but the cliffhanger was just too good to pass up! (I am dead, I am dead, I am SO dead...)**

At a few minutes before 10:00 PM London time, Soul Society's Captain Byakuya Kuchiki and Avalon's Field Marshal Giliad d'Tournay met in the corridor outside of Camelot's Communications Wing, from which all outside contact was filtered. The stain glass windows to their right depicted heroic reapers battling hollows. Wall sconce lighting reflected a riot of color against the opposite wall. D'Tournay's white mantle and Kuchiki's haori absorbed the color, an incongruous and humorous effect for both men.

"Good evening, Captain Kuchiki. How are your people dealing with the delay?"

"As well as can be expected," Byakuya replied.

"It's never easy when a friend is in this kind of situation. Avalon will do all it can within the bounds of our security to assist you."

"On behalf of Soul Society, I thank you."

D'Tournay looked at the timepiece from his belt pouch. "We'd best hurry. The call to Captain Kyoraku is scheduled to connect at 10:00 PM our time. We have ten minutes to get through several layers of security."

Byakuya moved along the wide buttressed corridor, two steps behind and to the right of the Field Marshal as befit the senior reaper's rank. Though he appeared focused on the journey, his peripheral vision took in the portraits and peaceful pastoral landscapes, brightly polished battle armor on dark green granite plinths, and delicate sculptures made of glazed clay, glass, stone, metal, or ceramic. Their footfalls were silent on the mint green, tan and ivory runners over an oak floor.

The Field Marshal led him through three checkpoints guarded by no less than a dozen reapers each. The final security check led them to the main communications center. A guard on the inside of the room examined them through a small glass window before unlocking the door from within.

Byakuya looked around the suite with intense interest, though nothing showed on his perpetually stoic face. The suite consisted of three individual rooms laid out like a large fan around the central circle. At the center of the sunken area was the emergency command center.

Judging by the reapers going in and out of the left-hand room, as well as the images on some of the partially organic screens, that chamber coordinated patrols and dispatched reapers to hollow sightings.

The rightside room handled all Avalonian interior communications, evidenced by images of the various fiefdoms on more than a dozen screens. Most of the videos were of reapers helping the afterlifers with repairs, distributing food or clothing, and patrolling for anyone breaking the laws of their fiefs. Additional monitors displayed pictures of Camelot's interior. Couriers hurried down corridors, while facilities and repair personnel were dispatched to deal with mechanical issues and security monitored in restricted areas. Two screens showed streaming data, the exact nature of which he could not read from that distance.

D'Tournay led him to the central room, the only one with a wall and door facing the central circle. The Field Marshal tapped a code into a small pad to the left side of the door. Inside the room was a screen ten feet wide and seven feet high, surrounded by the organic components that signified the technology used by all Seven Heavens.

Unlike the other two rooms he'd seen, this one held only two reapers, both with the armbands signifying their assignment to Avalon's District 1, with the circular Celtic design that marked them as lieutenants.

Field Marshal d'Tournay performed the introductions. "Captain Byakuya Kuchiki, Lieutenants Marilyn Naismith and Matthias Farfield, first shift monitors for this communications chamber."

Fairfield acknowledged the Soul Society captain with a respectful bow before saying, "Signal received from Seireitei main communications, sir. Captain Kyoraku is standing by."

D'Tournay nodded and said, "Connect."

The snowy signal cleared to show Shunsui Kyoraku on the other end, complete with floral pink kimono draped over his rumpled captain's haori. His trademark scruffy look was very much in evidence. The woven hat that usually sat upon his head hung by its chin strap behind him. He lounged at the desk, jaw propped up by his hand. His eyes were heavy-lidded with drowsiness.

A window on the wall behind him showed the faint blue and gold of early morning.

The completed connection caught him in the middle of a huge yawn, which displayed every tooth in his head.

The first words out of the flamboyant Captain's mouth were, "Damn it, Byakuya! Do you know what a god-awful time of the morning it is here?"

"Seven AM," Kuchiki answered, deadpan.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say this is a joke you're playing on me." Kyoraku yawned again, roughly rubbed his heavily stubbled jaw to wake himself up, and valiantly struggled to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"It is 10:00 PM in the evening here," Byakuya said, "so it is not so enjoyable on our end."

"Please tell me you have good news."

"That would depend on what you consider good. In my personal opinion, there is more bad than good."

"Naturally." Shunsui sneered with practiced ease. "With our luck, what else would you say?"

"I will say this: Captain Hitsugaya is indeed alive and being held by Albus Dumbledore. He has attempted one escape but was recaptured soon after. From what Yoruichi Shihoin's informant reported, his physical condition is serious but he is in fact still alive."

"Damn," Kyoraku cursed. "That's as bad as it is good. Okay, give me the details. Chronologically, please."

"Since our last report, this morning's searches of both Tom Riddle's family mansion and the wizarding world's Ministry of Magic turned up nothing of any use. Yoruichi Shihoin volunteered to infiltrate the final potential location, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Shunsui snickered and offered his listeners a lopsided, toothy grin. "I can tell by the dryness in your voice that you find that name as grandiose and redundant as I do."

"You are correct, but that knowledge is irrelevant to the matter at hand."

"Sorry," Kyoraku said, even though he obviously was not. He held up his hands, which until then had disappeared below the screen. He presented a pad half filled with notes and a slender pen. "Like I said, I'm still waking up. Go on, you were saying?"

Byakuya Kuchiki didn't sigh but he came very close. "Yoruichi Shihoin reported in upon reaching a location just outside of the school's magical defenses. Her original plan was to attempt to cross the boundary onto school grounds while in cat form, in the hopes that it would not trigger an alert. Before she could make the attempt, she was approached by a fourth year student named Luna Lovegood."

"The names just keep getting better and better."

"Do you want my report or not? If so, kindly stop interrupting."

Kyoraku tapped the corner of his mouth with the edge of the notepad and said, "Shutting up."

"Thank you," Byakuya said, dry but straight-faced. "The Lovegood girl showed a remarkable talent for recognizing that the black cat was something more. It is unclear how this power works or why she seems so eager to help rescue Toshiro Hitsugaya. Whatever her real reason, Yoruichi Shihoin accepted her offer of assistance. An hour later, we received a follow-up message. The girl's assistance was instrumental in a successful infiltration."

Captain Kuchiki paused long enough to put both hands up the sleeves of his shihakusho. "Two hours after that, she called to inform us that Hogwarts has a community of ghosts that are different than the normal pluses which we reapers encounter. They do not lose their sense of self, while retaining their memories and appearance. These ghosts are different because they possessed ability to perform magic prior to their deaths, which supposedly prevents them from becoming a hollow."

"Do they know about the reapers?" Shunsui asked.

"Yes, they do."

Movement on the screen behind Captain Kyoraku drew both Kuchiki's and d'Tournay's attention. Head Captain Yamamoto slid into view, leaning on the crown of his walking stick.

Byakuya bowed forward slightly and, mindful of the time difference, said, "Good morning, Head Captain."

Yamamoto took over the majority of the video screen, unknowing and uncaring of the fact that he had shoved Captain Kyoraku out of the way. He ignored his Squad 6 and 8 captains in favor of greeting his Avalon counterpart.

"Greetings, Field Marshal d'Tournay."

"Good morning to you, Head Captain Yamamoto."

"I trust my officers have presented themselves as befits their ranks."

"In my opinion," Gilead d'Tournay said, "they have gone above and beyond that. It's been both a pleasure and an honor to work with them, despite the grim circumstances behind their visit."

"Thank you, Field Marshal d'Tournay, for those supportive words," the old man in command of Soul Society said. He finally turned his attention back to Byakuya. "I have heard everything you've said to this point. Continue your report, Captain Kuchiki."

"Yes, sir. The ghosts provided Yoruichi Shihoin with some relevant information but are blocked by a geas from betraying either the school of the headmaster. She reports they are conflicted but cannot act due to the magical restriction."

"About these ghosts. How likely are they to inform a living wizard or witch about soul reapers?"

"According to the report, they have known for hundreds of years. They have not betrayed our existence to this date."

Yamamoto nodded. After a long moment of thought, he asked, "How hopeful is Shihoin that Captain Hitsugaya can be rescued?"

"I am unable to say at this time, Head Captain. His health and situation are both precarious at best. Time could well be of the essence in extracting him. Captain Ukitake and I have discussed this situation at length with Field Marshal d'Tournay and his captains. We are in unanimous agreement. The risk of exposure, whether voluntary or coerced, by Captain Hitsugaya is too great to withhold any and all efforts to rescue him."

"How can we know that this information is accurate?" Yamamoto asked. "He could already be dead. Any rescue attempt would only give these people an opportunity to obtain another prisoner."

Captain Kuchiki pulled forth a sword, previously hidden in the folds of his captain's haori. The ice blue hilt, the four-point star crossguard, katana blade, and green sash with a starflower broach were readily familiar.

"Hyorinmaru would not exist were his bearer dead. So long as this sword remains in the physical world, we can be assured that Captain Hitsugaya is alive."

Yamamoto lowered his head a moment then looked up.

"Field Marshal d'Tournay," he said. "Balance must be maintained whatever the cost. In your opinion, do wizards pose a significant enough threat to warrant extermination, similar to that performed on the Bounts and the Quincys?"

"I strongly object to that idea." D'Tournay frowned at the jumbo screen. "For one thing, muggleborns can't be predicted or prevented. It would be impossible to identify them without established magic users. Secondly when magic users die, they provide kido-strong people for the Seven Heavens. Without them, kido would become a rare reaper skill."

"Hmmm." The Head Captain was silent for well over a minute before he finally said, "If the Field Marshal and his captains agree, the use of force by Soul Society officers is authorized. Under no circumstances is Toshiro Hitsugaya to be left in the hands of the wizards."

"Sir?"

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," Yamamoto said. "You have permission to attack Hogwarts if a rescue is possible _and_ if Avalon agrees. Coordinate any and all movements with Field Marshal d'Tournay or his representatives. Do not forget to create contingency plans that will maintain the highest level of security. If a rescue is not possible, you are to make certain that Toshiro Hitsugaya cannot relay any information. You are not to leave him in enemy hands. Knowledge of reapers by the living world must be protected at all costs. There is no middle ground."

Yamamoto leaned closer until his uncompromising expression filled the screen. A knot of foreboding filled Byakuya's chest. The Head Captain's next words justified the feeling.

"To put it bluntly: either recover Captain Hitsugaya or kill him. This is an executive order."

Byakuya Kuchiki paused one long moment before he replied, "Understood."


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

******Tuesday early afternoon, day 4**

******A/N: Ummm ... hello again ... uhhhmmm ... Long time no see, ne? *waves sheepishly***

******I apologize for the delay in posting. Once again, health issues and a very stressful semester at the university where I work haven't left me much energy for writing. I hope to change that over the summer, so thank you to everyone who has stayed with this story.**

******Also, a very warm thank you to CressidaRene. The end sequence of this chapter was her idea.**

Harry Potter sat on a padded stone bench, arms wrapped tight around his drawn-up knees, his entire demeanor screaming "stay away from me." From the shadows of his corner, he watched students flow in and out of the main Hogwarts doors. Beyond the exterior steps, early afternoon sunlight bathed the lawn with what, in other circumstances, would have been an enticing warmth.

Unfortunately for Harry, he was not in "other circumstances."

_Ron and Hermione are due to be released from the Hospital Wing __today,_ he thought_. A part of me wants to be there with them. Another just wants to be totally alone. Which is stupid, considering I'm sitting in the busiest area of the entire castle._

End of term was only three days away, the train ride back to King's Cross Station the day after that. With everything that had happened over the school year, particularly within the last week, Harry was even more averse than normal to return to the "loving care" of the Dursleys.

A nagging tickle in the back of his mind only added to his frustration. The fact that he didn't know what the irritating prod meant made it even worse. He'd finished all of his OWL exams, so it didn't involve academics. Was he sensing something out of the ordinary, just beyond the reach of his consciousness? Had he forgotten something important, something that Dumbledore said, maybe? Had the Death Eaters in the Ministry said or done something that his subconscious was trying to recall?

_Is my grief for my godfather blinding me to something I need to know, or is Voldemort still playing with my mind, sending thoughts and feelings meant to trick me into doing something he wants? _Bitter, unshed tears burned his emerald eyes. _God, Sirius, I miss you so much. Why __couldn't__ we have spent more time together? Last Christmas was about the longest we got to see each other. It was only yesterday, yet in the distant past, all at the same time._

How he wished he could be as unfettered as the other students who moved through the entrance hall. So many smiling, carefree faces, most of them familiar to some degree. Students from all seven years passed before him, most in casual clothing suitable for the rising summer temperatures, though a few (purebloods, mostly) refused to forego the traditional school robes. One particularly large clutch of combined Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws wore shorts, trousers, or long tunics to cover swimwear in preparation for a prolonged plunge into Hogwarts Lake. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas trotted past without noticing Harry tucked away in the shadows, laughing at something one of them had said.

___Was I ever allowed to be that innocent? Not since the night Wormtail betrayed us and my parents died to protect me. The Dursleys stamped out what little naiveté I still had. By the time Voldemort came back into my life, I had no illusions left to get in the way._

To be fair, not all of the visible students were smiling or laughing. The majority of the happy ones were younger years, firsties up to around fifth-year. A few of the older students, particularly the graduating seventh-years, were more reserved, even solemn. With good reason. They were about to enter the adult world-away from the nebulous security provided by Dumbledore and Hogwarts-where a resurrected megalomaniac had just been exposed and a new war loomed on the proverbial horizon.

Only a few diehard supporters still believed the magical government, and by extension their law enforcement, was prepared for such a crisis. Having been the Ministry's scapegoat on more than one occasion, Harry Potter wasn't one of them. If Harry had possessed any trust for Fudge or his lackeys at the start of fifth year, Umbitch and her bedamned blood quill would have dispelled it.

He rubbed the back of his hand, tracing the faint ridges where "I must not tell lies" was permanently etched into his flesh.

And yet, even a few who knew what was coming better than any other student could still hold onto a hopeful attitude. On the far side of the entrance hall, Luna Lovegood sat on a bench that mirrored Harry's own. The blonde Ravenclaw swung crossed ankles with mismatched shoes forward and back, her right hand in constant motion as she gestured, pointed, waved, and otherwise indicated various people and features of the castle. Her audience was a black cat who may have been listening, or it might just be enjoying the constant petting from Luna's left hand.

Every little while, a lull in the general hubbub allowed him to hear her lighthearted voice in cheerful lecture mode.

___Can I find hope in her positivity-is that even a word?-or is it just Luna's two-steps-to-the-left, disjointed view of reality? Let's be honest. She believes in nargles and crumplehorned snorkacks, and she's talking to a cat. Though ... again, to be honest ... a cat that understands English isn't all that unheard-of in the wizarding world._

A flutter of black cloth drew Harry's eye. He watched Severus Snape march across the entry in his usual robes-billowing, bat-like fashion, unmindful of the students who backpedaled or jumped forward to keep from being run over. If anything, Harry suspected Snape's bulldozer attitude to be deliberate. It was no secret-the snarky, bitter Potions Master loathed children with a passion rivaled only by his love of potions.

_The only thing he hates more than children in __general,_ Harry scoffed within his own mind, _is me._

___I wonder ... is Snape even angrier than usual? He looks especially unhappy at the moment. I wonder what bug crawled up his bum and died._

Hogwarts' most hated professor stalked across the floor, displacing students left and right. Just as Snape disappeared en route to his dungeon, Harry's attention caught on another unusual thing. A familiar, flat-faced, ginger tomcat with a bottlebrush tail wove his way through the crowd, moving at the same speed and in the same direction as the irate potions master.

The cat, too, disappeared in the direction of the dungeon.

___Is Crookshanks following the professor? Why on earth would the silly cat do such a thing? And what was that in his mouth? Was it ... one of the twins' extendable ears?_

"Harry!"

Hermione's call snapped Harry's attention off the part-kneazle's odd behavior. Arms wrapped tight around him even as a curtain of bushy brown curls obscured his vision and tickled his nose enough to threaten a sneezing fit. Between hug and hair, breathing was a tad difficult.

"Give the man some air, 'mione," Ron admonished even as he gave Harry's shoulder a supportive squeeze. "You okay, mate?"

"I should be asking you two that question," Harry replied once Hermione had pulled back enough to clear his vision.

"We've been cooped up inside for _ages!_" Ron groused. "Let's go outside for a bit. The shade trees by the lake are calling our names."

Stepping out of the shielding shadows and into the attentions of his fellow students wasn't what Harry really wanted to do. However, he felt so guilty about not spending more time with his friends in the hospital wing, he didn't object too strongly.

()()()()

Luna pointed to a moving painting of a bearded man in red and gold armor that adorned a nearby wall and said, "That's Xsayarsa the King of Lions, or at least that's what I call him. Everyone else calls him Thom of Gryffindor. Xsayarsa the King of Lions has a much nicer ring to it, don't you agree? Though truthfully, he wasn't so much a king as he was a member of the pride. He died in battle protecting magic folk from a witch hunt a few hundred years after the school was founded, so I guess in that respect, he was lordly. The name 'Xsayarsa' is Persian, you know. It means 'great warrior' or 'lion-king'. Very appropriate for someone from Gryffindor House, I must say, and a lot less plebeian than 'Thom'."

Luna's face scrunched into a pensive frown. "'Lion-King the King of Lions' is a bit redundant, now that I think about it. Hmmmm, I'll have to work on it a little."

Yoruichi Shihoin studied the portrait in question and had to admit, he did look like a lion-one whose mane (read: hair and beard) flared out in all directions, russet-red, unkempt and wild.

The former captain of Soul Society's Squad 2 and _Onmitsukido _could not believe it. A teenage girl had convinced her to hide in plain sight-in the main entry hall for the entire school! What happened to stealth and shadows, to infiltration and evasion? Hundreds of years' training and experience in the covert arts, yet here she was, sitting on a padded bench for any and all to see.

Admittedly, she was in one of the darker corners of the vestibule, not in direct sunlight, and half-hidden by Luna's body. That didn't excuse the fact that she was In. The. Open! It was wrong. Just...wrong!

Luna's scratching fingers found a particularly sensitive spot along the black feline's jawline. Yoruichi's amber eyes closed and her purr ratcheted up two notches.

_If I can't stand up to a fourteen-year-old human __child,_ Shihoin yanked her thoughts back to more important matters than an extremely experienced scritching,_I've become too soft for this kind of mission. Little Byakuya must never find out. He'll never let me live it down. Neither would Kisuke Urahara. I'm not certain which would be worse!_

"Oh, yes," Luna said, "now I remember what I made a mental note to tell you. What a strange phrase: 'mental note.' I sometimes imagine a mental quill writing on a mental sheet of parchment, just to make it more interesting. I often change the color of the ink in the mental inkwell. My favorite is rainbow."

Despite their relatively short acquaintance, Yoruichi recognized the signs of a topical tangent. Hurrying to keep Luna on track, Shihoin pitched her voice low enough to not be overheard and said, "According to your mental note, you wanted to tell me something?"

"Oh. Yes. Thank you for reminding me. If you see a tabby cat with 'spectacles' around her eyes, you should move in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. Professor Minerva McGonagall is Deputy Headmistress for the school and Head of Gryffindor House. Her animagus form is a cat. It's quite conceivable she might sense something that differentiates you from the other felines in the castle." Luna shrugged one shoulder. "I could be wrong, mind you, but I don't believe it would be worth the risk to find out for certain."

"Tabby with spectacles," Yoruichi repeated. "Got it."

The fun-loving side of Shihoin's nature couldn't resist. _Rescuing Hitsugaya comes first, that goes without saying. But if a chance for a little game of hide-and-seek should present itself, I won't say no..._

"See that boy over there? On the far bench, the one all balled up and hiding? That's Harry Potter." Luna's voice softened. "He's grieving, poor boy. His godfather died a few days ago while fighting beside us in the Ministry of Magic. Harry saw it happen. He's feeling guilty. I wish I could make him feel better. Unfortunately, he's not ready to hear any comforting words that I or any of his friends have to say."

Yoruichi opened her eyes and studied the boy in question. As Luna said, he radiated misery and heartache. Shihoin recalled mention of this same young man in Sunday morning's briefing, when Field Marshal d'Tournay and his captains told the story of Tom Riddle's first rise to power. Though she was in no way privy to all the facts, her instincts screamed with certainty. This boy-Harry Potter-was key to most if not all future events surrounding the dark wizard Voldemort.

___Is he connected, however loosely, to Hitsugaya's kidnapping? If so, how? Can I use that connection to my advantage?_

"Don't worry, Lady Yoruichi." Luna lowered her voice so only the black cat at her side could hear. "I've sent Crookshanks to get what we need. It won't be much longer before we find your friend."

Amber eyes zeroed in on a swirl of black fabric. The intent hunter replaced the languid housecat.

Yoruichi whispered, "There's the potions master."

"Professor Snape. My, he looks more cross than usual. If he's on his way to Toshiro's prison, that probably isn't a good thing." The worry melted from Luna's voice when she added, "And there's Crookshanks, following him. Ohhh, good. He has what we need. Well, Lady Yoruichi? Are you ready to find your friend?"

Shihoin answered by jumping off the bench and running to catch up to the ginger tom.

()()()()

Harry Potter wrestled down a very real urge to strangle a certain bushy-haired witch. To help that effort, he distanced himself from the cause of his fury. He rolled away from the small plot under a spreading trio of English Oaks and set himself down again a good ten feet away from Ron and Hermione.

He slumped back against the rough trunk of the more solitary tree and heaved a sigh straight from his toes. Twitching fingers doodled in a small, bare space of earth beside his right thigh.

___I knew it was a bad idea to come outside. Why didn't I listen to myself? If she begs me to 'share my feelings' one more time, I just might explode and damn-all for the consequences!_

"Harry-"

"'mione," Ron hissed, "_enough _already."

For once, the normally oblivious Weasley saw what Granger could not, blinded as she was by a certainty that 'suppressing his grief' was bad for Harry. Ron had continually shaken his head and made hushing noises, hoping to stop the headstrong young witch from digging herself in even deeper. In vain, obviously.

"But, I...I thought..." Hermione wilted, shoulders hunched, slumping into herself.

Harry sighed and turned just enough to catch his two best friends in the corner of his eye.

"I know you mean well, and a part of me does want to talk about Sirius. I'm just not ready yet." He laid his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes. "There're so many thoughts running through my head right now. All the angst and melodrama, all the lies, pain and death. Dread about going back to Privet Drive. I'm homesick for Hogwarts and I haven't ruddy _left _yet! I'm glad to be alive. I feel vindicated that the wizarding world knows I was telling the truth about Voldemort, but I _HATE_ that it was at the expense of my godfather's life. I'm furious at Umbridge, Snape, even Dumbledore, for their part in everything that's happened."

He sighed once again, heavy with despondency. His right index finger continued its mindless scribbles. "I'm so confused. I feel everything. And nothing."

Hermione shifted over to sit closer to Harry, not quite touching. Hoping to repair the damage caused by her unthinking attempts to coerce a response, she asked, "What are you drawing?"

Harry shrugged, not sure himself. To his eye, it was nothing more than a series of lines and squiggles, random and unimportant. And yet...

Hermione craned around to better see what her friend had drawn in the small, bare bit of earth. She gasped, eyebrows raised and jaw dropped.

"Harry, that's a power rune. Wherever did you learn that? You're not in Ancient Runes. I only learned about this one in the last weeks before the OWL examinations!"

"Power rune?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, a power rune. This particular one is based on the number seven. According to _Everhard Tempest's Guide to Numerology and Magic_, eleventh edition, seven is one of the most powerful sums used in arithmancy. Among other things, it represents works of divination and mystery; of skill, science, and eloquence; of wrath and chastisement; and of love, ambition and intrigue. In dark magics, it can even embody malediction and death.(1) This particular representation is most commonly used as the locking glyph in a master-level ward or binding. I can't imagine where you might have seen it."

"I ...I can't...recall. It wasn't anywhere in the school. At least I don't think so. The Ministry, maybe? No. No, that wasn't it. I don't know why, but...I feel like it's important." Harry made a strangled noise and slammed clenched fists on either side of the mysterious rune. "Damn it! This niggling feeling that I've forgotten something is driving me 'round the twist! Why can't I _remember!_"

Hermione gave Harry a one-armed hug, tilted her head against his, and crooned softly, "Harry, if it's important, you'll remember soon enough. Getting worked up about it won't clarify anything. Let's just enjoy the sunshine and each other's' company."

"She's right, mate," Ron added his two pence as he knelt on one knee beside his best friend. "Right here, right now is the important thing. The world can ruddy well wait on us for a change."

Hearing in Ron's voice the ringing, implied and totally empty threat against anyone who might impinge on their time together, Harry couldn't help the first stirrings of an honest smile. His heart still ached for Sirius-that wound would be a long time healing, if ever-but maybe he wasn't as alone as he'd feared.

()()()()

"I probably should have asked this long before," Yoruichi said as she loped along beside the young Ravenclaw, "but what exactly is the plan?"

Luna hiked her book bag's straps higher up on her shoulders and answered, "Crookshanks should have an extendable ear, one of Fred and George's more interesting inventions. It's perfect for hearing conversations that the adults don't want us listening to. Once we catch up to him, Crookshanks will take the wire end and follow behind Professor Snape. We'll follow Crookshanks. The Professor isn't likely to notice Hermione's cat, or care about it even if he does. If Crookshanks can get close enough when Snape says the password, we'll be able to hear exactly what he says. Crookshanks will show us exactly where he entered. We say the same password and, _voilà_, we're in! Simple, see?"

_It sounds easy __enough,_ Yoruichi reckoned. _Sometimes, simple is best. There are already enough factors that can go wrong without adding more. _A sense of anticipation heightened the were-cat's already-intense situational awareness. _Kami willing, _she prayed, _we'll find where they're holding Hitsugaya. Once we know that, we can find a way to free him._

The ruthless assassin in her added with a vindictive growl, _If we can exact vengeance along the way, so much the better._

Two turns and a long corridor later, the pair caught up to the ginger tom. With a whispered thank you, Luna accepted the extendable ear from Crookshanks and passed the wire end back to him. With a soft _merrrp_, the bow-legged, orange cat galumphed down the corridor, his claws making soft chinking noises against the stone floor. Fortunately for their plan, the telltale noise was only audible to Yoruichi's feline hearing.

They moved along at a steady pace, moving deeper into the dungeons, down several flights of stairs, and were fortunate not to encounter anyone along the way. The air grew increasingly thick, the odors less savory. To Shihoin's feline senses, the buttressed corridor reeked of old air, stagnant water, mold, mildew, rot, and vermin.

Beneath it all lay the barest hint of Toshiro Hitsugaya's previous journey along this same passage. The fur along the were-cat's spine rose higher with every blood droplet they passed. Her long, slender tail lashed in repressed fury.

Luna kept the wire just taut enough to indicate Crookshank's continued progress. By the time the line went slack, proof that the tomcat had stopped, they were well beyond any area into which Luna had ever dared to venture.

The Ravenclaw fourth-year crouched down and held the receiving end of the ear so that Yoruichi could listen. Through the ear-shaped device, they heard Snape say, "_Glacialis draconis,_" followed immediately by the unmistakable grind of stone against stone-a hidden door, opening.

_'Icy or frozen dragon'?_ Yoruichi mentally translated. Amber eyes widened in joy. _Thank you, Kami! Hyorinmaru is a Chinese ice dragon-that can't be a coincidence. This is the place!_

Caught up in the success of Luna's plan, Shihoin almost missed the click of claws on stone and the unmistakable scent of 'cat'-approaching from the rear. Yoruichi stared back the way they'd come, ears tilted full front. She caught the whisper of a gravelly male voice, too faint to understand the words but growing ominously closer.

Her mind raced through their limited options. They couldn't move forward without the possibility of running into Snape. Going back would be equally disastrous-should word of their excursions reach Dumbledore, Luna faced having her memory wiped, while Yoruichi's situation would be unpleasant, at best. Their section of corridor was bare of any branching hallways, recesses, niches, doors, or other convenient hiding places. That left only one possible way to go.

There was no time to reel in the extendable ear or even warn Luna. There certainly wasn't enough time to shift and dress. Not that such was even a consideration; Shihoin had long ago given up any claim to modesty or propriety. Decision made, Yoruichi transformed from cat to naked human and grabbed Luna around the waist, covering the student's mouth to muffle any involuntary sounds. A power-leap carried them both upwards, onto one of the wide, carved-stone buttresses that lined the ceiling a good fifteen feet above the floor.

She dared hiss one word-"Company!"-directly into Luna's ear moments before Mrs. Norris, Argus Filch's mean-tempered cat, slinked her way into view. From what Luna had previously told Yoruichi, where Mrs. Norris went, Hogwarts' bitter and vindictive caretaker would not be far behind.

Mrs. Norris sniffed something on the floor and _meowed _at her companion.

"What's this, my sweet? What have you found? We don't normally see many students up to no good this far down. They're all upstairs, too busy trompin' dirt and grass onto my nice clean floors an' leavin' filthy paw prints over every shiny surface. Eh? What's this?"

Eyes wide as saucers, Luna sucked air behind the shinigami's hand, even as Shihoin fought not to utter the curse that threatened to pass her own lips. In her surprise at being propelled upwards, Luna had dropped the extendable ear, dead center in the corridor. The ear-shaped receiver bobbled beneath Mrs. Norris' front paw.

Filch stared at the object in question. "I know what this is. It's one of those hellcat Weasley twins' spying gadgets! Which means..." The caretaker stared up and down the corridor, peering into every possible shadow, and yelled, "Where are you, you mischief-making little brats? Come out! If I have to find you, I'll string you up by your thumbs 'til you're older than Dumbledore himself!"

Filch waited, as though he truly expected a miscreant student to surrender himself without any fuss. Growling below his breath, the caretaker stared once more at the offending item on the floor.

"So you won't show yourselves," he muttered. "I'll just follow this to where it ends. Maybe that'll tell me who you are and what you're after."

_Damn it! _The shinigami gnashed her teeth in frustration. _We don't dare expose ourselves. Not only for my sake, but for Luna's as well. Equally important, we can't let him learn any more than he already has!_

Filch took two steps in pursuit of his quarry. Before he could take a third, a ginger tomcat pounced on Mrs. Norris with a hair-raising yowl. The two cats rolled across the floor in a fur-flying tangle. Two tails-one a sparse brindle, the other an orange bottlebrush, both fluffed to maximum-whipped through the air. Fully splayed claws skittered across gray stone with all the pleasantness of fingernails on a chalkboard.

Mrs. Norris' furious hisses and snarls melded with Crookshanks' spits and squalls to create a reverberating, magnified caterwaul guaranteed to distract the Hogwarts caretaker from any other concern.

"Norrie!" Filch waved his arms and hopped around the tumbling felines. "Get away from her, you flea-ridden beast!"

The two cats separated in a cloud of displaced fur. Crookshanks landed with Mrs. Norris between him and her irate human.

Once separated, the two cats' differing attitudes became readily apparent. Mrs. Norris was unmistakably furious, complete with snapping tail, laidback ears, spiky fur, and bared fangs. Crookshanks, on the other hand, rowled low in his throat and stalked back and forth, his bottlebrush tail stuck straight up and quivering.

From their lofty perch, the two females watched in growing amusement as Argus Filch froze in place, a fearful expression flowing across his craggy face. He stared first at Mrs. Norris then at Crookshanks and back once more. The fear turned to absolute horror.

"You...you mangy tom, you...you stay away from my Norrie! I won't let you do ... THAT ... to my precious! Shoo! Go away!"

Mrs. Norris gave her nemesis a final, infuriated hiss/spit before she turned and disappeared up the corridor as fast as four legs would carry her. Crookshanks snarled and sprang after her. Argus Filch brought up the rear, arms flaying about. As he vanished around a bend in the corridor, Yoruichi and Luna heard him alternately pleading with Mrs. Norris to come back even as he threatened to use Crookshanks for a loo rug.

They somehow held down their laughter until the caretaker was well and truly gone. It wasn't easy, for either of them.

()()()()

**A/N: **(1) I found reference to the importance of the number seven on the internet, but I accidentally deleted the page before I could give it credit here. Since I was following a link from a link, my history did not record the site. To anyone who might recognize any of the paragraph in question, plagiarism was not intended and I sincerely apologize for failing to give credit where it's due.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Tuesday afternoon/late evening**

Sprawled across the filthy floor of his prison cell, Toshiro Hitsugaya regained consciousness in slow, laborious stages.

As his captivity continued, the periods of oblivion grew increasingly more frequent. Each awakening required more effort to overcome the enticing lure of a nebulous, disconnected, unfeeling void. While there, he could escape his captors, any respite from pain being a victory of sorts. Most important of all, he needn't worry about saying anything that would endanger his fellow shinigami.

Reconnecting to the here-and-now meant accepting a hard, unwelcome truth. Waking meant that he must face more violence and torture. Toshiro didn't know whether he should welcome the void or fear it.

At least this time, he awoke alone.

With nothing to do but think, he struggled to recall a time when he did not hurt from the topmost tip of his frosty hair to the soles of both feet. Judging by the intermittent signals sent by his gigai, he had at least a dozen broken bones, not including his mangled hands and feet. Three ribs on his left side were broken, the same on the right; each individual breath was an unending but necessary agony. Every visible part of his torso was either slashed or covered in plum-black bruising. The lower right side of his back felt hot and tight, swollen, evidence of an internal injury.

Blood loss was a serious consideration, especially when added to the fact that he had ingested neither food nor water since leaving the Sereitei.

Toshiro stared through swollen eyelids at the deformed bones of his hands, still encased in iridescent blue energy-a useless waste of power. He no longer had the ability to cast even a low-level healing kido. A higher-level attack hado was out of the question. Even were he strong enough to overcome his enemies, he had no physical strength to stand, let alone travel any meaningful distance.

This totally ignored the fact that Dumbledore had thrashed every ounce of skin from his feet to prevent another escape.

He had no way of knowing how long he'd been held prisoner but reckoned it was at the very least five or six days. Although gigais didn't need as much sustenance as a normal living body, they required periodic maintenance every few weeks. Despite the near-miraculous healing powers provided by the occupying shinigami's spirit, abuse to the gigai shortened that interval considerably. Between hunger, thirst, and injuries, he estimated another day, at most two, before the artificial body began to lose cohesion and organs started to fail.

_As Sensei Oshiida told me my second __month __in the Academy, a shinigami who occupies a dying gigai dies with it. But ... would that be so bad? It would be a kind of escape._

Toshiro ground his teeth together only to relax his jaw when loosened molars and a fractured cheekbone protested. _No. No, I will not surrender my life for such a cowardly reason. I will endure. The plus ... the ghost ... said ... Yoruichi Shihoin is here. Help comes. All I have to do is hold on until she finds me._

A dull popping sound made him flinch despite every desire to remain stoic. The strange, wrinkled little creature with the batwing ears was back, holding a tray that supported several covered medicine pots, stoppered jars, bandage rolls, folded towels, and a metal carafe. A bucket filled with water hung from her arm by its handle.

Tears filled the being's tennis-ball sized eyes. She ... Toshiro wasn't sure why, but he thought of the creature as female ... put down the tray and wrung her hands in the hem of the tea towel that served as her garment.

"Please ... you know what they do ... is wrong." Hitsugaya's fractured voice was hardly more than a breathy whisper. _Before my capture, my pride would never have allowed me to beg. I would have sworn to die rather than let such a plea cross my lips. Sadly, my pride has taken a beating along with my body, so I ask for help. The worst that can happen is she answers, no. _"Help me."

More tears flowed even as she arranged the tray on the floor close to where he lay. She helped him sit up, allowing him time to ride out the agony invoked by the shift. Once he was over the worst, she unstoppered the carafe and held it to his cracked, bloody lips.

Cool water trickled across his tongue. His conscious mind, the iron-willed part that demanded he accept nothing that might signify comfort from his enemies, could not stand against the instinct to survive at all costs. Toshiro arched upwards, frantic for more of the precious moisture. It tasted strongly of herbs and carried with it the metallic tang of blood, but he could not have cared less. The need for water overrode all other thoughts.

His stomach rebelled at the sudden influx. The little captain curled in on himself, gagged and retched, spewing water and stomach bile over himself and the creature. He could only lay there quaking, mortified beyond reason, as she waved away the mess and once more offered him water.

This time, Hitsugaya resisted the urge to chug the liquid. Instead, he took short sips, with pauses in between to allow his unsettled stomach to adjust. By the time he drank as much as the gigai could take, he was trembling with fatigue and ready to return to the unfeeling void of unconsciousness. He vaguely noticed when the creature set aside the carafe and laid him back on the cold stone floor.

A tiny wave from the creature banished the blood pools. Gnarly old hands moistened a towel in the water bucket and gently washed the blood and filth from his body. She lathered his wounds with organic-scented pastes, salves and lotions, none of them pleasant to either scent or skin. Most were, in fact, astringent enough to make medicinal alcohol seem welcome. She wrapped clean white bandages around the worst cuts along his arms and legs, and encircled his lacerated forehead.

He made no sound throughout the procedure except for harsh, staggered breathing, with a short hitch during a particularly painful procedure. Only one moan, hastily squelched, escaped when the creature cleaned and bandaged the soles of his flayed feet.

"Thank you," he told the little creature. He knew his turquoise eyes begged for rescue even as she bowed her head, fat tears falling off her chin. Still without a word, she gathered up her materials and disappeared with a muffled pop.

Hitsugaya forcefully resisted the desire to howl in despair. Chance after chance to escape slipped through his fingers. From the fight between himself and Hyorinmaru against the wizards, to the strange girl, Luna, through his encounter with the boy, Harry, and even the visit by the female ghost. Bad timing, poor decisions, lack of physical strength, and the unwillingness of others to help (for whatever reason), all combined to keep him prisoner.

If or when Shihoin found him, would ill luck plague him once again? Would they be able to escape through enemy territory, against such unfamiliar magical powers?

He drifted through such dismal thoughts for several minutes, returning to himself when he heard the scrape of the door opening. Hardening his expression as best he could given the circumstances, Toshiro Hitsugaya watched Dumbledore and Snape step into the cell.

The hawk-nosed man knelt beside him in a flutter of black robes. It took every ounce of Toshiro's will not to lean away from his tormenter. Though turquoise eyes glared daggers, the flash of amusement on the wizard's face betrayed the truth-Toshiro hadn't hidden his reaction as well as he'd hoped.

With an unfeeling, clinical precision, Severus Snape examined the slash wounds that crisscrossed Toshiro Hitsugaya's chest. He poked various bruises, pressed against broken ribs, and raked potion-stained fingernails across barely formed scabs. This close, the shinigami easily read the frustration and anger on the potion master's face. Black eyes drilled into him as though they might find the answer to the mystery hidden somewhere inside Toshiro's skin.

"I simply do not understand it," Snape muttered to himself, though loud enough for everyone in the cell to hear. "The pastes and unguents I gave Babby should have worked. I keyed them specifically to the homunculus' cellular matrix and the parasitic spirit's power signature. There is no logical reason why they aren't healing his injuries more effectively."

_Loathe as I am to agree in any way with my captors, even in the privacy of my own head ... this situation is even stranger than they know._

_These grown wizards, filled with power and experience, can't do half so well as a teenager with limited training. The boy-Harry-healed the boils and stinging welts with a short incantation, yet they can't do the same. Their most powerful-not to mention caustic or foul-tasting-concoctions don't work, either, even when they're custom-made for my gigai._

"I appreciate your efforts, Severus." Dumbledore sighed and shrugged. "We simply must deal with the situation as it stands and hope for the best."

_'The best,' he says. The best for them, not me._

_I am Toshiro Hitsugaya, captain of Squad 10 of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. My zanpakuto is the strongest ice-based weapon in the whole of Soul Society. I earned my rank through knowledge, strength, and power. I should be able to overcome any obstacle._

_Yet ..._

_My pride cannot deny the truth. If I'm going to survive this nightmare, help must come from the outside. The only thing I can do is ... endure._

_I can hold out. I have to keep remembering. Help comes._

()()()()

"I don't suppose there's a magical way to make the sun set faster?"

Luna laughed at the cat's droll comment. "No, I'm sorry. That spell hasn't been invented yet. Though I imagine someone somewhere is working on it even as we speak."

The witch and the black cat sat on a blanket laid on a small rise near the northern end of Hogwarts Lake. Luna had chosen the location with care. The rough, rocky lake bed discouraged casual swimming, yet nearby trees offered some relief from the heat, though the shade was eventually negated by the low angle of the sun as it sank toward the horizon.

"I figured as much." Yoruichi sighed and laid her head down on crossed forepaws. "Waiting is always the hardest part of any mission."

"Aren't you due to call in a report or something soon?" Lune asked.

"At sunset. Maybe by then most of the students will have headed back inside and we'll have more privacy."

Luna looked around. A good three-quarters of the sunbathers had already returned to the castle. Only the more stubborn swimmers remained in the rapidly cooling mountain lake.

Yoruichi's ears twitched as they caught the uncommon sound of hooves on soft earth. The black cat turned ... and stared _way _up.

The being had the moon-touched head and torso of a human male balanced above the four legs, lower body and tail of a palomino stallion. Champagne hair haloed his head in flyaway waves. His facial features were perfect, a classical blend of smooth angles and chiseled planes. He held her gaze with cerulean blue eyes far too deep to be mortal.

A yew wood longbow and a full quiver of arrows rode the newcomer's human back. The worn strap of an overfilled haversack strained across a muscular chest; the red leather binding of a book, several rolls of tan parchment, and two pheasant tail-feather quills overflowed the leather pouch.

Luna Lovegood stared up at the palomino centaur with a rare expression of surprise.

"Hello, Professor," she said. "We don't often see you outside before the stars come out."

"An inability to see the stars," the centaur replied, "does not prevent me from hearing their whisperings."

"Ahhh, this is true." The blonde Ravenclaw fourth-year nodded. "I take it the stars are saying something important?"

"They are, little scholar." The centaur turned his full attention to the amber-eyed black cat seated next to the student on the plaid blanket. "They tell me to speak of dark foreshadows to your companion."

Luna smiled down at the cat and performed the introductions. "Yoruichi Shihoin, this is Firenze, one of our Divination professors." Luna giggled and whispered behind her hand, "As you can probably tell, half of the girls at Hogwarts have a huge crush on him. He is quite dreamy, after all."

"I would recommend against changing form this close to the ward boundary," Firenze warned. "They have recently been strengthened and would most certainly alert others to your presence on Hogwarts grounds."

"Thanks for the warning," Shihoin replied.

"That was a caution. The warning is yet to come."

"Oh dear," Luna whispered. "This can't be good."

"No, little scholar, it is not. Never in the history of the planet has one place, one person, commanded the threads of all futures." Firenze leaned over to better meet the cat's golden gaze. "Hogwarts is the place. And you are the person."

"I admit, things look grim but-"

"The stars never lie. All potential futures are borne on their light. Change spreads from the tiniest actions and inactions in all realms. Tonight, the stars see only desolate darkness. The future is obscured, cloaked in a miasmic black fog. Three worlds teeter on the edge of a knife. If you do not act, all will fall to oblivion."

Yoruichi Shihoin shivered, chilled by the centaur's ominous prediction. The black cat turned toward Luna, her head tilted in query.

The blonde Ravenclaw met the feline's yellow gaze. For once, Luna's expression was crystal clear, untouched by her usual disconnected air. "Professor Trelawney may be an old fraud, but Professor Firenze is a true clairvoyant. If he says something, you can believe him."

The shinigami stared at the setting sun for several minutes before reaching a decision.

"There's a device wrapped inside my clothing," Yoruichi said to Luna. "Get it out of your bag and open it."

Luna did as instructed. Cradling the soul phone in her hands, the teenage witch quickly figured out the correct way to open it (she was a Ravenclaw, after all) and looked to the black cat for further instructions.

Shihoin guided her magical helper through the brief steps to completing the call. One part of her mind objected-showing Soul Society technology to a mortal was sheer insanity. Yet this information was too important not to report immediately, and she dared not shift to human form this close to the ward boundary.

A short, monotone voice, somewhat tinny through the soul phone's speakers, answered, _"Kuchiki."_

Wasting no time on pleasantries, Yoruichi reported, "Luna and I have found the entrance to where they're holding Hitsugaya-_taicho_. Once the castle goes to bed, I plan to reconnoiter. If our luck holds, I'll attempt a rescue. Have a medical and extraction team standing by at the rendezvous point just in case."

_"Understood. Do you have any further information?"_

Now came the hard part. Knowing Byakuya Kuchiki as well as she did, explaining the ethereal reality behind a clairvoyant's visions would not be easy. Convincing him to act on Firenze's prophecy would be even harder, if not downright impossible. Still, what choice did she have?

"Little Byakuya, do you trust me?"

A fractional pause, then, _"What kind of question is that, Shihoin?"_

"A valid one, considering what I'm about to say next. I've been in the magical world long enough to understand some things and to question truths I'd once thought to be chiseled in stone. I've seen wizards cast spells that bend reality. They do things on a daily basis that would melt your precise and logical mind to mush. I'm asking you to go out on a limb for me, Bya-kun. I'm asking you to trust me."

A longer, more pregnant pause before Kuchiki answered, _"Tell me."_

"There is a branch of magic called divination. Most of the time, it's exactly what you're thinking-vague, imprecise, and not worth mentioning. However, there is a ... centaur ... on staff here at the school. Luna assures me his seer ability is genuine and reliable."

_"Surely you're not serious. Shihoin, have they-"_

"If you ask if they've bespelled me in some way, Byakuya Kuchiki, I swear I'll snatch your _Kenseikan _with the hair still in it and drop it down the nearest sewer drain!"

Firenze, who had been silently watching and listening, asked, "May I speak with him?"

Yoruichi blinked golden eyes twice before nodding to Luna, who laid the device across the centaur's outstretched hand.

Firenze studied the communicator a moment before raising it closer to his face and said, "I am Firenze. As your agent has stated, I am a centaur. My herd exiled me because I would not sit by and watch as darkness devours the world. What the Headmaster does is far worse than the evil of the Dark Lord. His actions not only threaten the darkness, they endanger the light, as well."

"_I cannot argue with that assessment," _Kuchiki said, his patrician voice dripping with cynicism. _"Even so, to place any faith in visions and fortunetelling would be ludicrous."_

"I tell you what I know to be truth. Whether you accept or not is your concern, not mine. I say this, you who are known to magical ghosts as a Taker of Souls. If the future remains unaltered, tragedy will befall three worlds-magical, mortal, and spiritual. Foul deeds will rile the dead. Spirits will rise in anger. Blood will spill. Mysteries that must never be revealed will become known to all."

Firenze locked eyes with Shihoin, as though to drill into Kuchiki through her the seriousness of his words. "You face your own threat, spirit captain, one as vile and corrupt as the magical world's Dark Lord. Should the future remain unchanged, a tortured soul will die before the third sun rises. His loss will herald a river of blood. Your force will be diminished at a time when every last scrap of help is needed."

The centaur's blue gaze clouded as his vision turned inward. "I see a crater in the earth where a thriving town once stood. I see entire cities burned to their foundations, millions upon millions slaughtered. I see your warriors caught between three opposing armies, unable to counter one, let alone all three. A foul green cloud boils over the face of the world, the earth screams in pain, famine and disease run unchecked, and hope withers."

"Your own realm is not exempt. It, too, will fall to flame and ruin. No one will remain untouched by the darkness. The rolling boulder of war will crush all that you hold dear. A king's crown falls to the ground, to be picked up by a traitor's hand.

Heed my warning. If these things remain unchallenged, they will hold true." Firenze looked away into the deepening gloam. "I have spoken. The rest lies with you."

Firenze handed the soul phone back to Luna and left them, headed back towards the school.

An uncharacteristically subdued Luna Lovegood angled the phone toward Yoruichi. Shihoin cleared her throat and said, "I believe him. If we let Hitsugaya die, we lose one of our strongest fighters against Aizen."

Luna added her own piece. "If the wizarding world learns what the Headmaster has done, it will cause chaos at the very least. To most wizards and witches, Albus Dumbledore _IS _the light side. If he can do such evil things, what hope is there for anyone? Even worse, if the muggle world finds out about us while we're so agitated, the result would be catastrophic."

"Three armies-mortal, magical, and hollow-with Soul Society crushed between them," Yoruichi rounded off the grim foreshadow. "Even with the combined forces of all Seven Heavens, we won't stand a chance."

_"Yes, he paints a grim picture, made even worse because it so readily fits the facts as __we know them," _Byakuya Kuchiki admitted; both Yoruichi and Luna caught the faint current of reluctant uncertainty in his tone. _"That doesn't mean that we can-or should-rush into action without reviewing every conceivable consequence."_

"Byakuya, whether or not you believe in divination, this isn't a possibility we can ignore." Golden eyes hardened. "I'm going after Hitsugaya-_taicho _as soon as the castle's asleep. Whatever it takes, we're getting him out of there-tonight!"

()()()()

**A/N:**I know there hasn't been much action in the last few chapters. That will be changing very shortly! I toyed with the idea of skipping this chapter and heading straight to Yoruichi's descent into the sub-dungeon-aww darn, I've told you what happens next chapter! (grin)

I did not do so for an important reason. There are two key pieces of information in this chapter that will influence future events. Can anyone guess what they are? One is fairly obvious, but I doubt many readers will catch the second. (evil grin)


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Tuesday night - day 4

A/N: Thank you to my beta, CressidaRene. You rock, my friend.

Luna Lovegood and Yoruichi Shihoin followed the ginger tomcat down the familiar corridor, past the point where they'd encountered the Hogwarts caretaker, and around a final bend in the passage. Along the wall that pointed toward the next twist and turn hung a single life-size portrait.

On the canvas, a woman stood at the edge of a flower-studded, sun-dappled glade, near the knobbly, rough trunk of an aged English Oak. A delicate, dark green silk fan―embroidered with threads of gold on a frame of carved ivory, accented by translucent mother-of-pearl―fluttered before her shadowed face. Her dress was Victorian, bustled, and cut from dark green, gold, cream and white materials, with rucks around the neck and shoulders.

Luna touched the tip of her wand to the red walnut frame and spoke in a deliberately imperial voice, "Hear me, O Hogwarts, as I speak the proper password. Allow us passage and protect us from all dangers that might befall us. _Glacialis draconis._"

The portrait of Relinda the Recluse floated off the wall and toward the left. Behind where the portrait once hung, a tall, narrow rectangle of stone pulled back and ground its way out of sight. Beyond lay a long passageway that pointed steeply downwards, the walls so close that a full-sized man might find both shoulders brushing against the sides.

Yoruichi raised a delicate eyebrow, tilted her head toward the young witch, and asked, "Was that first part truly necessary?"

Luna shrugged and smiled. "Probably not. But it can't hurt, either, can it? All things considered, any support at all, even from a castle, would be welcome at this stage."

"I can't deny that."

The shinigami turned her attention back to the opening. Blackness soaked up what little light spilled from the main corridor. Ahead lay only an inky void. The heavy, fetid scent of poorly circulated air raised Yoruichi's figurative hackles. Anything inside―or beyond―the black passage would undoubtedly be unpleasant.

This was no place to bring a fourteen-year-old girl.

"Luna, I need you to stay here."

"Oh, but Lady Yoruichi, you might need m―"

"Unless Snape has already left, we know that at least one enemy is below. Not to mention, we haven't seen Dumbledore in a while. We know nothing about the area and can't guarantee there will be places large enough for both of us to hide."

"I know, but―"

Shihoin laid both hands on the young witch's shoulders and squeezed gently. She leaned in and stared Luna directly in the eyes.

"Most important of all, I need you to remain undetected. If I don't report in by dawn tomorrow, Byakuya will send someone to investigate. I need you free to help that person enter the castle and complete the rescue."

A ghostly shimmer pooled on the nearby wall as the Grey Lady floated through. To her right and slightly behind, the Bloody Baron flowed into view through the stone.

The Baron, his voice gravel-deep, spoke first. "She speaks wisdom, little 'claw. When entering enemy territory, it is never wise to send your entire scout force."

Lady Helena smiled and carried it a step further. "Wise is a commander who holds a second plan in reserve lest the enemy discover his ... or her ... primary course of action. And wiser still is the friend who accepts that reserve role, even when her heart cries out to share the excitement and danger."

Luna stared at the floor and whispered, "Staying behind ... feels cowardly."

"There is no cowardice," the Baron corrected her. "S'truth, t'is the opposite. Only the bravest have the strength of heart to go against personal desire for the betterment of his fellows. Fear not for your courage. You proved yourself stout of heart only last week, did you not?"

"Following Harry to the Ministry was easy. There really wasn't any other option open to us. Tonight―"

"Is the same," Yoruichi said. "Please, Luna. I need you to stay unknown to Dumbledore and Snape, and to anyone else that may be a threat. For my sake ... and for Toshiro Hitsugaya's."

Luna sighed, shrugged, and said, "If you insist." She wrung the front of her black robes between her hands, huffed a deep breath, and whispered, "Will I ... will I see you again?"

"If everything goes as I hope, I'll be able to get Hitsugaya-_taicho _out of the castle sometime tonight. Luna, thank you so much for everything you've done. I doubt I could have found him on my own, nevermind a rescue. If the centaur was right, by helping me, you might well have saved the world."

"Not knowing the outcome will be annoying. Still, I expect Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape won't be very happy to lose their prisoner. The resulting drama should be very entertaining."

Lady Helena said, "Joseph, would you escort Luna back to the Ravenclaw common room? I shall accompany Lady Yoruichi."

"I can't even wait here?" Luna groused.

"What would you do should Headmaster Dumbledore appear?" the Bloody Baron asked. "Think, girl! There is no place in this area to hide. Once discovered, your presence will betray the Taker of Souls to her enemies."

"Oh bother."

Shihoin snickered and patted the girl's left shoulder. "I promise you, Luna. I'll get word to you as soon as we're safe. Until then, take care of yourself, okay?"

Tear-misted blue eyes met golden. "You, too, Lady Yoruichi."

()()()()

Albus Dumbledore stared at four mounds of reports (Hogwarts, Wizengamot, International Confederation of Wizards, and Order business). Beside them sat two piles of unopened letters and a teetering stack of individually rolled parchments. Exhausted by the week's events but too busy to rest, he raised his arms and arched his back against his throne-like chair, only to grunt in pain as the bones of his spine popped and realigned.

Rising from his chair, he strolled across the room to his familiar's perch.

"The paperwork never seems to end, does it, my old friend?"

Dumbledore reached out a hand to stroke Fawkes' elegant neck. The usually docile phoenix reared up, spread his great wings, and swatted the wizard away. An angry chittering tirade filled the cluttered office, echoed in every corner, and set occupants of the various paintings to whispering.

The air around the great bird shimmered with a heat haze. Individual red and gold feathers glowed like hot embers. His long, magnificent tail plumage wafted in an artificial wind created by warmth and magic. The ambient temperature of the room rose to an uncomfortable level in a matter of seconds.

The Headmaster sighed again and shook his head. "Are you still angry at me, Fawkes? Surely you understand why I do what I must."

Angered still further by the grandfatherly scolding―a clear implication that fault lay with the phoenix rather than the wizard―Fawkes slapped the air once with his wings. The resulting wind pressure toppled the mound of parchment rolls. Loose sheets floated around the room like unfolded paper airplanes. Delicate instruments toppled off their tables and shattered against the stone floor.

Dumbledore surveyed the mess and turned his irritation toward its cause. "Really, Fawkes! Was that truly necessary?"

A voice from a high shelf drew Dumbledore's attention. "You asked if he's angry? Of _course _he's angry! I can't say as I blame him. If I were a phoenix and my wizard walked a dark path, one where I couldn't follow, I do believe I would be angry, too."

The wizard glared up at the Sorting Hat. "Be quiet, you moth-eaten rag. I have enough problems without you butting in."

From a shadowed corner, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black offered a rather inelegant snort. "And how many of those problems are of your own making?"

"What is this?" Dumbledore waved his wand to re-sort and stack the scattered documents. A second wave repaired or vanished the broken gadgets. "Why are you berating me like this?"

"Perhaps because you deserve it," Dilys Derwent, typically one of the gentlest, most understanding of the former headmasters, spoke with unusual harshness.

"You, too, Dilys?"

"Despite what others have thought of me throughout the centuries," Derwent said, "I do have a backbone, though I do admit, it normally takes something drastic to bring it forth. Perhaps this should be your first clue, Albus Dumbledore, that you are in the wrong!"

"It's glaringly obvious that I won't get much work done today, with you lot badgering me." Dumbledore marched across the room toward the exit. "I have other business I can attend to elsewhere. Perhaps when I come back, you will all be asleep."

"One final thought before you leave," the hat called as the door closed behind the Headmaster. "When was the last time you heard your familiar's thoughts?"

The portal closed before Dumbledore could answer, though the hat and several of the portraits saw the wizard stumble over nothing.

With no one left to rage at, Fawkes wilted on his perch―head down, eyes closed, the epitome of abject misery. The heat haze faded away. The grieving firebird shrank in on himself, shivering and lost.

"Fawkes..." The Sorting Hat's voice softened to an aching croon. "You've done all that you can. He's made his choice."

The phoenix hummed a sorrowful note filled with pain and grief.

The painting of Armando Dippet, Dumbledore's predecessor, shook his head in regret. "To the best of my knowledge, only twice in all the world's history has a wizard tread so far into the dark that he lost the love and connection to his phoenix familiar. If events progress as I fear they will―"

When it became clear that Dippet would not complete the sentence, Phineas Nigellus Black finished it for him. "―Albus Dumbledore will be the third."

()()()()

The ethereal glow of Lady Helena's ghostly body provided enough light for Yoruichi Shihoin to pass swiftly through the descending tunnel. The stone door opened on silent hinges and admitted them into the sub-dungeon.

To better protect herself from discovery, the former commander of Soul Society's Squad Two and the _Onmitsukido _hid her clothing in a shadowed corner and transformed into her black cat persona. For this phase of her mission, the feline's smaller size, silent paws, and black coloring would all benefit her better than her human form.

A long passage stretched before her, carved from time-worn gray stone. Above her head was a domed corridor without buttresses or decoration. No carvings, decorations, furniture, or light fixtures broke the monotony of a hall that continued into black infinity. However, on the left-side wall―the one without doors―was an indentation a solid foot deep at the center, as wide as a large serving platter. Fracture lines skittered away in every direction.

To her cat's keen sense of smell, the air was leaden, uncirculated, and rank. She noted then dismissed the organic tang of mold and mildew, and the memory of stagnant water from long-ago flooding. The bitter salt of sweat born of both fear and anger hung heavy around her, growing stronger the farther she moved down the corridor. Residue from scorched wood and metal added to the stink.

Though her eyes saw neither spot nor smear, over it all lay the copper scent of blood mixed with Toshiro Hitsugaya's personal trace.

_The wall must have been damaged when Hitsugaya tried to escape. A hado of some kind. Shakkaho, most likely._

A door stood directly opposite the damaged wall. Its transparent surface allowed her to see into the lit room. The instant she perceived its occupants, Yoruichi Shihoin fought the urge to arch her back, unsheathe her claws, and hiss in rage. Beside her, The Grey Lady allowed a single sob to escape before she fell silent once more.

Inside the square cell, a single globe slightly larger than the palm of her hand floated up near the ceiling. Bathed in its golden light, suspended in midair by metal bands that encircled his wrists, was the target of her mission.

_Hitsugaya-taicho. I've found you. Whether I'm in time has yet to be determined, but I have found you._

The potions master, Snape, stood next to the captive _shinigami_, wielding his wand like a whip. A streamer of mustard-yellow light attached to the end of the birch rod wreathed and slithered like a living thing. New burns and welts rose on Hitsugaya's already shredded torso with every successful strike.

Shihoin tore herself away from the ghastly tableau long enough to retrieve her soul phone from the hidden cache of clothing. She advanced a goodly distance into the black corridor, far enough to avoid detection, and reverted to human form.

Activating the communications device, Shihoin wasted no time on preliminaries.

"I've located Hitsugaya-_taicho_. There's a descending passage hidden behind a painting that leads into the deepest dungeon of the castle. This passage opens onto a poorly lit, wavering corridor lined with closed doors. Hitsugaya-_taicho's _cell is near the start of the corridor. The door appears to be made of wood but it's transparent from the outside―I can see inside but they don't seem to notice me."

Byakuya Kuchiki's patrician voice came through the phone's small speaker. _"What is his condition?"_

"From what I can see, not good. Broken bones, open wounds, severe contusions, and extensive burns. I don't think there's a single inch of his skin that hasn't been damaged in some way. There's not a lot of blood on the floor, but they may clean the area."

_"Can you get him out?"_

"Eventually, but not right away. The potions master, Snape, is with him right now. Byakuya ... it might as well be Aizen in there, for all the compassion I can see in this human."

_"Don't let your emotions overcome you, Shihoin. They won't do anyone any good, least of all Toshiro Hitsugaya."_

"I know that," Yoruichi snapped, only to sigh and lower her head for a moment. Her voice softened. "I know that. It's just ... seeing what he's going through ... what he's endured for days ..."

Except for the distressed squeaks of nearby rodents, the silence stretched for a long moment until broken by Kuchiki.

_"I've discussed this situation at length with Field Marshal d'Tournay and Head Captain Yamamoto. If you cannot covertly remove Hitsugaya from his prison, a strike force consisting of Avalonian and Soul Society captains and lieutenants will enter the school on Saturday, after the students have left."_

"Saturday! That's four days from now. In his current state, Hitsugaya won't last that long!"

_"What choice to we have? The entire point of this rescue is to protect the security and anonymity of the Seven Heavens. Attacking a school filled with hundreds of children would defeat that purpose."_

"The 'entire point of this rescue' is to _rescue Toshiro Hitsugaya_!"

_"No, Yoruichi, it is not." _Byakuya Kuchiki's voice never lost its conviction, but it did soften enough for her to feel his regret. _"His rescue is important, yes, but it is nevertheless a secondary objective. First and foremost, neither the mortal nor the wizarding worlds can learn of Avalon, Soul Society, soul reapers, grim reapers, or any other facet of our existence. Hitsugaya understands this. It's why he's endured days of torture without surrender. To attack now when so many would see us would tarnish his sacrifice."_

"If you could see what they're doing to him, Byakuya Kuchiki, you wouldn't be so indifferent to what's happening."

_"My seeing it, and my emotions, have nothing to do with anything. The facts are irrefutable. It will be hard enough adjusting the memories of every adult wizard and witch who remains in the school after the students have gone. We simply do not have the personnel to deal with the memories of hundreds of children. Besides which, aren't many of the students pre-pubescent? You know how dangerous it is to tamper with still-developing mortal minds. I'm sorry, Shihoin, but the risk is simply too great. We must wait until Saturday at the earliest."_

"You do remember what the centaur said, don't you, Byakuya? According to Firenze, the captain of Squad 10 won't live past dawn on Friday. Having seen Hitsugaya's condition, I agree with that assessment. If anything, it's naively optimistic! And if the centaur's foretelling is true, losing the captain of Squad 10 will lose us everything."

_"I understand that," _Kuchiki's voice echoed her own angry frustration, _"but what other choice is there? We're damned either way. All we can do is deal with the situation as we face it right this moment."_

"I won't believe that. I won't _accept _that! I swear, I _will _find a way to save him, and to hell with anyone who tries to stop me!"

Yoruichi Shihoin slammed the soul phone shut before Kuchiki could respond.

From her place back in front of the cell door, Lady Helena Ravenclaw gestured for Yoruichi to return. The instant Shihoin approached, the ghost whispered, "Something is happening. A house elf has entered the cell."

Visible through the one-way transparent door, a wrinkled creature with batwing ears, overly large eyes and dressed in a white tea towel stood in the far corner of the cell.

In a squeaky voice, the being called out, "Professor Snapy, sir?"

Snape whirled around and glared at the source of the interruption. "What is it, elf? Can't you see I'm busy?"

The house elf twisted her left ear in both hands, bowed low, and hurried to say, "Zinky is so sorry, Professor Snapy, but there's being a fight in the Slithy's common room. Students be casting spells and hitting ones another with theys fists. They is breaking and burning things they shouldn'ts."

"Damnit! Of all the times―"

The elf bowed low and vanished with a sharp crack.

Snape slashed his wand to cancel the active spells. Freed from the hover charm, Toshiro Hitsugaya dropped to the floor with no effort to break his fall. Other than a grunt of displaced air, the tortured shinigami made no other sound.

_He's going to leave Hitsugaya without a guard, _Yoruichi realized, _but there's no telling for how long. It would be better to wait until the entire castle's asleep, including Dumbledore and Snape, but there's no guarantees for an optimal situation. This may be the only chance I'll get. Risk or not, I have to take it._

With no time to hide the soul phone back with her clothing, Yoruichi tucked the device snug against the juncture of wall and floor where, hopefully, it would go unnoticed. In feline form, she huddled as close as she could to the wall next to the door and dampened her spiritual pressure to maximum.

The Grey Lady vanished, melting into the stone. With her went the hallway's only source of light except for what spilled through the transparent door.

The portal opened ahead of an irate potions master who was more intent on dealing with recalcitrant students than he was on surveying his surroundings. Under cover of the man's billowing robes, Yoruichi slinked around the door jam and vanished from sight. The hawk-nosed human exited the room, closed and spell-locked the door behind him, never realizing that he'd allowed anything to enter the cell.

The black cat gagged against the terrible smells that permeated the chamber. Yoruichi wasted no time shifting to human form. Unmindful of her nakedness, she knelt next to Hitsugaya and gently rolled him onto his side.

"_Shikusho!_" she gasped in dismay. The damage was even worse up close. "Getting you out won't be easy in the best of circumstances, which these sure as hell aren't!"

Muted green eyes, barely visible through blood, bruises and swelling, tracked upwards, towards the familiar voice.

"Shi ... hoin?"

Yoruichi offered her best encouraging smile and said, "I'm here, Toshiro. I'm going to get you out."

The frost-haired captain's voice was little more than a breathy whisper. "Plus said ... help ... comes."

"Help is here. Hitsugaya, listen to me. Once I blast open the door, there's bound to be an alarm. I don't know how much time we'll have before the wizards can respond. We'll have to move quickly. It's going to hurt like hell, but you have to hold on. Do you understand?"

The question took a dangerously long time to filter through. Hitsugaya swallowed twice, shuddered from head to toe then offered a faint nod of agreement.

"Okay, then. I'll use a _shakkaho _on the door. Once the way is clear, I'll grab my soul phone and clothes then blast open the passageway. Once we're out of the tunnel, I can shunpo us through the castle and outside. It's nighttime, so we shouldn't encounter any children. Byakuya Kuchiki has an evacuation team waiting at the rendezvous point beyond the lake. If everything goes our way, we should be clear of danger within ten minutes."

Yoruichi lifted the small captain into a fireman's carry, which left her hands at least partially free. Hitsugaya offered no protest except for a single whimper, quickly bitten off. Only jagged breaths against her bare shoulder betrayed the pain caused by the movement.

With her right hand raised, palm forward towards the door, Shihoin cried, "Hado 31: _Shakkaho!_"

A ruby ball of energy formed in the air ahead of her vertical hand then slammed into the door. Neither the materials from which the door was made nor the advanced strengthening charms applied to it by both Dumbledore and Snape could withstand the red fire cannon kido. The obstruction―and a goodly portion of stone on either side―disintegrated into pieces no larger than a dessert plate. As it had during Hitsugaya's first escape attempt, the air filled with rock fragments, dust, and the stink of charred wood and liquefied metals.

Yoruichi left the cell and grabbed her belongings. She shifted Hitsugaya's weight a bit to improve her balance and turned toward the passage access point.

Centuries-old instincts screamed of danger. Never one to disregard a warning, Yoruichi threw herself and her burden to the floor. A bright red beam of light cut the space where they'd stood an instant before. In the confusion, no one noticed a small silver device fall from the bundle of clothing and spin some distance down the corridor.

Cloaked in thick smoke from smoldering wood and dust from a further abused corridor wall, Albus Dumbledore stepped into direct illumination from the cell's mage globe. Golden light reflected off half-moon lenses, hiding his eyes. His wand pointed toward the prisoner and his would-be rescuer.

A black shadow moved behind the headmaster, an impression of darkness, height, and a scowling presence. Though she couldn't see the second figure clearly, Shihoin recognized the potions master's "feel."

"You look surprised, my dear. You obviously didn't sense me approach. You needn't feel bad for having failed. Occlumency has many uses, not least of which is hiding one's magical presence from an enemy."

An evaluation of the situation, and her various options, flashed through Yoruichi's conscious mind.

_Two powerful wizards against one shinigami. Exit blocked. No place to retreat. Both sides hampered by cramped quarters and no possible shelter. I might be able to guide the fight, keep them in each other's way. Take or break their wands; without them, they're helpless. I have shunpo speed and kido, but I'm hampered by Hitsugaya. I can't let them get their hands on him again to use as a hostage, but if I stay at his side, I'll lose my shunpo advantage._

_Damn it!_

"Judging by your protective stance," the elderly wizard never took his eyes off the naked, purple-haired, yellow-eyed woman who crouched over the tortured boy, "I venture to guess that you at least know one another."

"Get out of the way, old man," Yoruichi warned. "You've done enough damage. I'm taking him home."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, dear lady. You see, there is still too much we need to learn from him. Unless you're willing to tell us?"

Yoruichi raised her arm and cast, "Bakudo 9: _Geki!_" only to see it successfully blocked from hitting Dumbledore by the potions master's _"Protego!"_

Snape fired back with his own _"Stupefy!" _which likewise failed to strike its intended target. His voice rich with scorn, the dark wizard said, "Your little friend used that on me when he tried to leave. I won't be falling for it again."

"She seems quite determined to escape, Severus, and might well have the power to make it happen. I'm afraid we must do whatever is necessary to stop her."

"Understood, Headmaster."

Dumbledore cast a wordless transfiguration spell with a follow-up wave of his wand. Scattered fragments of wood and rock transformed into fifty steel-tipped spears. With a pop of displaced air, the animated weapons shot directly for Shihoin.

"_Enkosen!"_

Given insufficient time for even the shortened incantation for Bakudo 39, Yoruichi's round lock fan shield of condensed reiatsu was not at full strength. It held through the barrage of spears, as well as against a dozen medium- to high-powered cutting and blasting curses. Even worse, as a purely defensive form of kido, it required all of her concentration to maintain and allowed no option for attack.

A _bombarda _from Dumbledore shattered the barrier. The manifested reiatsu glittered in the air for one final moment then vanished.

_Kido versus magic's getting me nowhere! _Yoruichi decided. _I'll have to mix it with a physical attack._

A powerful bound against one wall spring-boarded Yoruichi toward the opposite wall and back again. Each leap, backed by shunpo, increased her physical power and speed and brought her closer to her enemies. With a final push, she spun in mid-air, leg outstretched to strike with her favorite airborne _mae keage geri_, or hammer kick.

Shunpo speed carried her across the distance too fast for either wizard to react. Snape had just enough time to note a blur of dark skin and purple hair before a calloused heel slammed down on his head and powered him to the ground.

Shihoin never touched the floor. Instead, she harnessed the energy of her reiatsu to re-aim her attack toward the older, more dangerous wizard.

In the instant before she could slip into shunpo, Dumbledore swished and commanded, _"Deprimo!"_

A powerful wind sprang from the wizard's wand. In a single second, all traces of smoke, dust, ash, and debris were thrust far down the corridor. Caught in mid-air, Yoruichi had nothing to brace against except her own spiritual pressure. She wasn't thrown back, but forward movement was impossible against winds more powerful than any hurricane.

Focusing reiatsu on the bottoms of her feet, she anchored herself in place long enough to cast a desperate Bakudo 61. Six staffs of light stabbed Albus Dumbledore dead center of his mass. The headmaster cried out and tried to struggle, only to find himself held totally immobile.

The winds vanished. Shihoin landed on the floor in a prepared crouch, ready to attack again at the first hint of threat.

Snape lay on his stomach, unconscious. A trickle of blood flowed down his face from a split scalp. Dumbledore stood nearby, paralyzed by the six thin wide beams of yellow-white reiatsu.

"Be glad I'm more interested in saving my friend than I am in punishing you, old man," Yoruichi snarled as she once more gathered Hitsugaya into a fireman's carry. "Come on, Toshiro-_chan_. We're gone."

"No, girl. You're not going anywhere." The reiatsu rods paralyzed all movement except speech, which was, unfortunately, all Dumbledore needed. Though his wand lay on the flood beside his right foot, Dumbledore spoke a single word: _"Laqueus."_

Understanding the Latin word for 'trap,' Yoruichi made a desperate dash toward the exit. Even at shunpo speed, she could not outrace Dumbledore's prepared snare.

A flash of light engulfed the _shinigami_. A powerful current pulsed through their bodies, locking muscles in a rictus of agony. Close behind the electric charge, a fine blue mist settled on their skin and immediately soaked through their pores.

Yoruichi had a fractured second to scream before darkness overtook her.

()()()()

"Severus, are you sure you're alright? Perhaps Poppy should take a look at that wound."

"No, Headmaster. I'm fine. I don't feel up to explaining to the school matron how I came by the injury."

"Yes, that would be problematic. Very well. I'll trust your judgment." The headmaster's attention shifted back to the strange woman who lay on the cell floor beside her companion. Tight magical ropes bound her from shoulders to calves, while iridescent blue energy encased her hands. "Can you tell me what you've found?"

"The initial scan is nearly identical to the boy's, with the same suspicious abnormalities. This body, too, _appears _to be human but isn't. This one is different, however―the cells of this body vary in age and seem to be in a constant state of flux."

"Is it a homunculus as well?" Dumbledore asked.

"I believe it is, but perhaps a later, more refined creation."

Dumbledore's wand performed an intricate dance over the unconscious female. The Headmaster's eyes brightened even more as a wave of recognition passed over his face.

"Ah! She's a were-cat! How extraordinary! I haven't heard of a fully functional were-feline in, oh, close to ninety years!"

"You might wish to contain your enthusiasm a moment," Snape sneered, "and give some thought to what her appearance in the castle means for us."

Dumbledore's delighted mood deflated considerably.

"Oh, dear, yes. I can't imagine how they did so, but our young friend's companions seem to have pinpointed both his location and our involvement in his abduction. We should relocate them elsewhere as soon as possible. Not Grimmauld Place―too many people there who might not understand. Nor any of our own properties, as they'll be the first place anyone will search. Ahh, well. We'll find a place, no doubt about that. For now, we shouldn't panic."

The damnable twinkle returned to the Headmaster's eyes. "Even with this setback, I do believe we've come out ahead, all things considered. We now have two valuable sources of information. We can use them both to our advantage. While one might be unwilling to break for one's own sake, one might be more receptive to coercion for the sake of someone else."

()()()()

In the outside corridor, Lady Helena Ravenclaw hung her head and allowed pearly tears to fall. The Grey Lady had seen everything from the seclusion of the spirit realm. Even without the geas placed on her, as a ghost she was powerless to do ought but bear witness to further tragedy and misdeeds.

_My dear little 'claw will be heartbroken, as am I. To be so close, only to fail at the last moment._

Lost in the folds of the spirit's skirts, Yoruichi Shihoin's soul phone lay on the stone floor, well beyond its owner's reach.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

**Wednesday, small hours of the morning - day 5**

**A/N 1: Thank you to my outstanding beta, CressidaRene, for giving me another great story idea. She will recognize Ichigo's opinion of Old Man Yama.**

**A/N 2: In response to several reviewers' comments, I have broken a long-standing rule. I've posted an extended explanation at the end of this chapter. Read it or not as you like; it isn't truly necessary to understand the story itself. I make no apologies and will delete any flames that result.**

**As I have s****aid before, I welcome negative critiques―they help me grow as a writer. However, variations of "you're an idiot for writing that" do not qualify as 'negative critiques'. If you cannot offer a negative critique in a constructive manner, do not bother. If you don't like my interpretations of either the Harry Potter or Bleach universes, please do not read.**

**To those who remain open-minded and tolerant of an author's creative rights, thank you. I hope you enjoy this story.**

"Luna, you must go back. If the Headmaster sees you, all will be lost. Please do not make me regret telling you of what happened to Lady Yoruichi."

Hidden in the narrow passageway to the sub-dungeon, Luna Lovegood smiled at the patron ghost of Ravenclaw House. Her face, lit only by the glow of the spirit's body, looked gaunt and haunted, but her expression was resolute.

"Lady Helena, thank you, but this is something I have to do."

"Child, please reconsider," the Grey Lady wrung her hands and pleaded. "Even without the geas, I am nothing more than a vaporous spirit ... I cannot help you."

"I understand," Luna replied with steel in her voice, "and I'm willing to take the risk. Don't worry. I'll do my best to avoid capture, but this is something I must do. After training all year with Harry and all of my friends, I would feel like a coward to not do what I can to help make a difference now. I want to stand up for what I feel is right. Whoever they send to check on Lady Yoruichi will need to know what's happening. I need to learn all that I can before the Headmaster strengthens the protections around this area."

Though she lost nothing of her worry, the Grey Lady's eyes shone bright with pride. "I cannot say whether you should have been sorted into Hufflepuff for your loyalty or into Gryffindor for your bravery. In either case, Ravenclaw House is most fortunate to have such a daughter."

Luna laid her hands on the closed sub-dungeon door and whispered, "You'll make be blush."

"Wait. Do not open the portal just yet. I will scout the way."

"Won't that conflict with your geas?"

Lady Helena's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"You are out of your dorm after curfew. I do nothing more than protect a child of my House from point deduction and detention. It will in no way interfere with either the Headmaster's duties or his personal desires." When Luna looked gave her an appraising smile, the Ravenclaw ghost continued. "It is not all that uncommon. The other House ghosts do this all of the time. Joseph in particular protects his Snakes. Why should I be any different for my Eagles?"

"Semantics, My Lady?"

"Points of distinction. Which in this case are enough to sidestep the geas."

"What a positively Slytherin way of thinking," Luna giggled.

"Really, child. There is no need to be insulting," Lady Helena huffed, even as her face took on a playful cast. "I will return anon."

Lady Helena phased from sight through the closed door. Her absence plunged the passageway into utter darkness. Luna shivered, crushed by an oppressive weight caused from the lack of space and light. The urge to hyperventilate became hard to overcome. The Ravenclaw fourth-year refused to cast _lumos_. This close to the cell area, Dumbledore might have passive detections that would register even that small use of magic.

Second, third, even fourth thoughts skittered around her brain. Was she doing the right thing? Lady Yoruichi had ordered her to remain undetected. She needed Luna in a position to help any subsequent rescue attempts. Capture by Dumbledore or Snape would spoil all of Shihoin's carefully laid contingency plans. Not to mention how unwholesome and unpleasant it would be for Luna herself.

_There's no turning back. Whoever comes after Lady Yoruichi will need information. Merlin, if you can hear me, help me to stay strong and be successful. Hogwarts, any help you can give me would be welcome, as well._

Exhaustion dragged at her body even as danger-borne adrenaline heightened her senses. The hour was close to four in the morning. This far north on the British Isles, dawn was scheduled for 4:30, give or take a few minutes, though the eastern mountains would delay the advent of light for a short while. Depending on the various teachers' and students' early morning plans, Luna estimated at most one hour before she absolutely must return to the castle's upper levels. Any longer than that increased the risk of discovery.

The Grey Lady flowed back through the stone, bathing the narrow passageway once more in a silver-blue glow. Luna shielded her eyes with both arms until her eyesight adjusted to the returning illumination.

"The way is clear," the ghost reported, "though I cannot say how long that will remain true. The Headmaster and Professor Snape are in the cell. Both prisoners are there, as well."

Resolved, Luna pushed open the portal and looked into the corridor. Noting the damage caused by previous battles, she found her attention drawn to a transparent door farther down the way from which poured a golden light, occasionally broken by a shadow of movement from within the room.

She examined the area for a way to brace the portal but saw nothing.

"I see no way to keep the door open without casting a spell, which I can't do without risk of being discovered." Luna looked down at her feet and shrugged. "I suppose this will have to do."

The Ravenclaw fourth-year removed her left shoe and laid it in the egress. The scrap of cloth and leather held the door open in the event that she needed to make a quick getaway.

Luna took a single step into the corridor before Lady Helena blocked her way.

"Youngling, I beg of thee. Heed my warning. Lady Yoruichi's device―the one she uses to speak with her companions―lies there, on the floor." Luna followed the ghost's gesturing hand. The silver device lay in sight, barely within reach of the transparent portal's indirect lighting. "Take it and leave. Do not look into the chamber. Such a gruesome sight is not for innocent eyes."

Luna stepped around the spirit, snatched up the soul phone, and dropped it into her robe pocket. Driven by sudden rebellion, the fourth-year marched over to the door and looked inside.

Her entire body shook. Her mouth opened and closed but made no sound. Luna wanted very badly to blink, to close her eyes, to look away. Horrendous images burned into her permanent memory where they would become fodder for her worst nightmares. Her disconnected mind floated on the verge of a faint.

Thirty seconds passed. A minute. Two. Her mind refused to process the evidence of her own eyes.

Luna broke and ran through the exit, barely remembering to recover her shoe. Blinded by tears, throat burning with the need to vomit, she raced up the passageway, her wayward slipper in one hand, Yoruichi's soul phone clenched tight in the other. She didn't stop her upward rush until she reached the main hall doors. Luna threw open the locking bars and raced outside, into the golden glow of pre-dawn.

Driven by a mindless need to escape, Luna stumbled over rocks and uneven earth. Pain from a sharp stone against the heel of her bare left foot brought her back to reason. Luna found herself still on Hogwarts grounds, close to the main gates. Beyond the winged boars lay the path through the forest that separated Hogwarts from the wizarding village of Hogsmeade.

Exhausted legs gave way, dumping Luna into an awkward three-point fall. Gasping for air, she blinked away tears. In the faint rosy light of approaching dawn, she stared at the items in her hands. With mechanical movements, she sat on the ground, wiped grass, dirt and a trace of blood from the bottom of her left foot, and replaced her shoe.

She stared at the soul phone for a final moment then flipped up the lid. The badly shaken Ravenclaw closed her eyes for a moment, reviewing memories of how to use the strange, muggle-like device.

Entering the sequence she'd learned from Lady Yoruichi, Luna Lovegood inhaled deeply and pressed the 'connect' button.(1)

()()()()

The _Senkeimon _closed, having allowed the passage of two travelers from Seireitei. Flickering flames from torches and braziers gave a dark red tint to a pink floral _kimono_, beneath which peeked a white captain's _haori. _Shunsui Kyoraku greeted his fellow captains with a smile and a tip of his reed _sakkat_. A _daisho_ sword pair named Katen Kyokotsu―one of only two known dual-weapon _zanpakutos_ in all of the Seven Heavens―rode in their customary place on the flamboyant captain's left hip, snugly held by a bow-tied sash.

Behind him, orange-haired Ichigo Kurosaki stood clad in a simple _shihakusho_, his chest bisected by the red chain of his weapon strap. Byakuya Kuchiki studied the cloth-bound hilt of Kurosaki's obscenely large _zanpakuto_, Zangetsu, visible over the teen's right shoulder. The nobleman's defeat on Sokyoku Hill by the neophyte reaper still rankled, though the head of the Kuchiki Clan was too proud to show even the slightest hint of irritation.(2)

Giliad d'Tournay, accompanied by Byakuya Kuchiki, Jushiro Ukitake, and Daniel Gilbreathe, waited to greet the newcomers.

"So this is the substitute shinigami I've heard tell about." D'Tournay nodded toward Ichigo, a look of keen interest on his aged face.

Kurosaki studied the old man. The English reaper's uniform―a black tunic and short white mantle―reminded Ichigo a bit of Uryu Ishida's Quincy garb.

"Yeah, I am. What about it?"

The Avalonian Field Marshall gave him a measured look followed by an enigmatic smile. "If we were under better circumstances, I would love to hear the details of how you came to have your abilities. Perhaps I can hear the story later, when all this is behind us."

"Maybe. We'll see."

With pleasantries out of the way, Byakuya raised a questioning eyebrow towards the captain in the loose floral kimono.

"Is there a particular reason you decided to accompany Kurosaki, Captain Kyoraku? More to the point, how did you convince Head Captain Yamamoto to allow it?"

"Well, Byakuya-_san_, I told the Old Man I could do a better job if I examined the data and evidence first-hand."

Ukitake smiled at his oldest friend and translated the obfuscation. "Which in actuality is merely an excuse to satisfy your own curiosity."

Shunsui hummed. The sound neither confirmed nor denied the assessment.

Ukitake took it a step further, saying, "Not to mention the fact that you're as worried about Hitsugaya as the rest of us."

"Hnn," Kyoraku's cheerful attitude lessened, a hint of sadness passing over his face, "that's true enough."

Jushiro Ukitake's warm brown eyes caught the flash of emotion on Captain Gilbreathe's face. The gentlest and arguably most respected of the _Gotei 13_ captains laid a hand on the young captain's shoulder and squeezed.

"Please, Daniel. You must stop blaming yourself. You are not responsible for Hitsugaya-_taicho's _situation. No one could have foreseen last Friday's events. No one."

"Thank you, Captain Ukitake," Daniel said. "My head understands that. It will take some time before either my heart or my gut agrees."

The uncomfortable moment stretched until d'Tournay suggested, "It's early hours here. We've set out a light breakfast in the main conference hall. By the time we're finished, there should be some news from either your agent or the extraction team."

"Shouldn't we've heard something already?" the orange-haired substitute reaper asked.

"It's only been a few hours since Shihoin planned to move," Kuchiki answered, a subtle rebuke in his tone. "Given Captain Hitsugaya's probable condition, it may take them some time to stabilize him for transport."

"Might I suggest―"

A buzz from Kuchiki's pocket interrupted Field Marshal d'Tournay. The nobleman withdrew a soul phone from an inside pocket of his _haori_. Noting the identity of the caller, he answered in his typical, no-pleasantries fashion.

"You have something to report, Shihoin?"

The voice that came through the speakers, however, was not Yoruichi's. _"Ummm ... hello. Luna. I'm Luna. Um. Luna Lovegood."_

A rigid frown-line snapped into place between Kuchiki's dark eyebrows. "How do you know how to operate a soul phone?"

_"Lady Yoruichi taught me. Please. You have to come. She's been captured. She tried to rescue Toshiro, but the Headmaster set a trap and caught them before they could get out of the sub-dungeon."_

Around Byakuya, all motion ceased except for sudden intakes of breath and a muttered oath from Kurosaki. The human's voice through the phone's speakers was loud enough for everyone to hear.

Byakuya upped the output even further before he ordered, "Calm down, girl, and tell me what you know."

Harsh breathing carried over the connection, slowing steadily until Luna could once more speak coherently.

_"One of the House ghosts, Lady Helena Ravenclaw―we sometimes call her the Grey Lady―came to my dorm room tonight. She'd gone with Lady Yoruichi into the sub-dungeon to rescue Toshiro. She told me that the Headmaster arrived before they could escape the__ lower level. There was a fight. Yoruichi won, but Professor Dumbledore activated a trap spell that knocked her unconscious."_

Two shuddered breaths later, in a voice that quaked with horror, Luna said, _"I went down there myself. I ... I found Yoruichi's phone on the floor. The Grey Lady warned me not to, but I ... I looked into the cell ... the t-tor-torture chamber. Oh, sweet Merlin. Merlin, what they were doing―"_

The report was cut by sounds of violent retching. Byakuya looked at the soul phone with mild revulsion.

Ukitake reached out. His expression one of urgent compassion, the white-haired captain angled the soul phone to speak directly into the receiver.

"Luna, listen to me. My name is Jushiro Ukitake. I'm a friend of both Toshiro Hitsugaya and Yoruichi Shihoin. This is hard for you, I know, but the more information we have, the greater help we will be. What can you tell us?"

A shuddered breath, followed by the sounds of someone spitting bile from their mouth and a heavy sigh.

_"I'm ... I'm alright. Well, not alright, precisely. After seeing ... that ... who can honestly say that they're 'alright'? But I am ... able to tell you what I saw. When I left the sub-dungeon ... it was about ten minutes ago ... both Professors Dumbledore and Snape were in the room. They ... they had Yoruichi there, in her cat form. There was a metal collar around her neck, like the ones on Toshiro's neck, wrists, and ankles. They were ... torturing her ... trying to get Toshiro to talk in order to save Yoruichi."_

Her voice rose, tinged with agitation. _"He said ... Toshiro said ... they were both warriors ... who were prepared to die if necessary. I could tell ... her pain hurt him terribly, but he ... he didn't surrender."_

"Yes," Ukitake offered a wan smile, "that is Captain Hitsugaya, beyond any doubt. Thank you, Luna. You're a brave girl to risk contacting us this way."

The girl's voice fell, barely more than a broken whisper. _"You're wrong. I'm not brave. When I saw what was happening in that cell ... I ran like a snorkack startled by its own shadow."_

"No. You escaped to a location where you could contact us. We will do the rest. Are you safe where you are?"

_"I'm outside, near the main gates," _Luna answered. _"If I am to be quite honest with you, I do not want to go back into the school. If I met the Headmaster now, as upset as I am, I most sincerely doubt I could avoid betraying my revulsion."_

"Then may I suggest that you find a safe place to wait? Give us, say, a half-hour to discuss the new situation and plan a course of action. We will call you again as soon as we're ready."

_"You'll come?"_

"As soon as we can," Ukitake promised even as Kuchiki shook his head, the shadow of a disapproving scowl on his face.

Byakuya's thumb hovered over the disconnect button but paused when Luna spoke one final time.

_"There is something else you should know," _she said. _"Hogwarts has extensive defenses, including strong boundary wards. The Headmaster will activate them if the school is attacked. I can open the gates for you, but you'll have to hurry. The instant the first one of you crosses the detection wards, every teacher will know you're here. Dumbledore will trigger the boundary protections and alert the Ministry for help. If you're not inside the grounds by the time the shields go up, you won't get in."_

"Understood. Thank you, Luna. We'll contact you soon. Keep yourself safe."

()()()()

"We have no choice but to attack. It must happen today," Field Marshal d'Tournay said.

Around the large conference table, captains and lieutenants―as well as one substitute soul reaper and a nervous young seventh-seat healer―gathered to plan their offensive. The breakfast food on the sideboard lay untouched and forgotten.

"True enough," Captain Kuchiki replied. "Now that Shihoin has been captured, they must realize we know where they're holding Hitsugaya and that we have a way to bypass the school's defenses. They will likely move both of their captives to another location, one with greater security that we know nothing about."

"To make it even harder for us," Jushiro Ukitake carried the scenario a step further, "they might put them in separate locations."

"We can't let that happen! We have to rescue my captain before he's hidden away from us again, please!" Rangiku Matsumoto spoke up, emboldened by her passion. Then, remembering her slip up, she added, "And Yoruichi Shihoin too, of course!"

"Are we all agreed to a direct confrontation?" d'Tournay studied every face and found grim acceptance. "Very well. All that remains is to determine how we can proceed without destroying all hope of secrecy."

Ichigo Kurosaki leaned against the table. "I have a suggestion." Once all eyes were on him, the orange-haired substitute soul reaper said, "Coming from the world of the living, I can guess how these wizards will react. Yes, they'll consider us an invading force. Even the ones who don't know anything about what's happening are gonna resist, if for no other reason than to protect their students, which means we're going to have to fight them. But we don't have to go at it the same way we would if we were invading _Hueco Mundo_."

"I don't get it, Ichigo," Renji Abarai interrupted him. "What other way of fighting is there?"

"This magical world's hidden itself from regular humans for centuries, right? They're all about secrecy, they understand hoarding power and abilities. If we pretend to be from another branch of magic―a previously unknown, powerful, highly select order that ... maybe ... channels magic through our weapons instead of wands―we can do what we need to do and get out. All we'll leave behind is the misunderstanding that we're not all that different from them. Unless we come out and tell them what we really are, they'll never know we're _shinigami_."

"The idea has merit," d'Tournay said.

"Wandless magic users, yes." Daniel Gilbreathe nodded. The head researcher's eyes were bright with a thousand ideas. "I've been studying the wizarding world. Kido incantations and weapons chants might sound like wandless magic to them. It will mean avoiding any use of Awakening―er, that is, _bankai_. That will seriously limit our ability to fight, but an Awakening, even limited to 20 percent strength, would be too hard to explain away as another branch of magic. However, if we go in with our Spirit Swords already in Released, or _shikai_, form, they shouldn't know the difference!"

"In order to maintain secrecy," d'Tournay said, "we must willingly hamper ourselves. We cannot risk using an ability that, as Captain Gilbreathe says, cannot be explained away as wandless magic. Anyone who cannot restrain themselves to an acceptable level should not join the rescue party."

Byakuya Kuchiki captured everyone's attention when, in a grim voice, he said, "Before we go any further, there's something you all need to know. Head Captain Yamamoto placed the decision whether to attempt any kind of action against the wizards with Field Marshal d'Tournay. However, he also gave the Soul Society _shinigami _an executive order. It is succinct and impossible to misinterpret. If a rescue is not possible, we are to make certain that Toshiro Hitsugaya―and now, by inference, Yoruichi Shihoin―cannot relay any information. Neither one can remain in enemy hands. Knowledge of reapers by the world of the living must be prevented at all costs. There is no middle ground."

"Byakuya," brown eyes wide with dismay, Ukitake whispered, "are you saying..."

"If we cannot rescue Toshiro Hitsugaya or Yoruichi Shihoin, we are to kill them."

Utter silence descended on the meeting for a grand total of six seconds before Ichigo Kurosaki powered out of his chair and growled, "That old man's way too quick to kill people! First Rukia, and now twice with Toshiro!(3) Anybody else seeing a pattern here? Think about it a second. Toshiro Hitsugaya's the most powerful ice-based reaper in the Soul Society, and his powers aren't even _half _what they'll be when he's grown. Ice beats fire. Yamamoto's afraid Toshiro'll someday threaten his chokehold. The old man's a dictator, what else can you say! "

Hanataro and Renji blanched at Ichigo's bold remarks, while Rangiku gave a small nod in agreement.

Hold your tongue, Kurosaki!" Captain Kuchiki said, his voice as cold as steel. "Do not speak of matters you do not understand. However you may view the Head Captain or his motives, he is still just that―Head Captain. We must obey."

"This is true enough," Jushiro Ukitake replied in time to cut off Ichigo's angry retort, lifting a hand to hold him at bay, "However, if we interpret his order directly, we have permission to make every attempt at a rescue. Let's concentrate on that, instead of on the worst-case scenario."

Field Marshal d'Tournay rose from his seat and looked from one officer to the next. "Are we in agreement?" Receiving no objections, he squared his shoulders and said, "Very well. Avalon officers in the rescue party will include Captains duLay, Gilbreathe, Sigursdottur, and Rousseau. Captain Kuchiki, with your permission, may I recommend that your entire party participate?"

Byakuya nodded.

"You are all dismissed to gather what supplies or equipment you will need. Captain duLay, Reaper Yamada―you are in charge of all medical situations. The fighting will be fierce and our side severely hampered, so stock your supplies accordingly. Everyone assemble in the central courtyard. I will open the battle gate there."

D'Tournay rose from his seat and slammed the end of his Spirit Sword walking stick on the floor. The sharp crack rebounded around the room.

"It's time to carry the fight to the wizards and reclaim those of our own. Ladies and gentlemen, you have fifteen minutes."

()()()()

(1) This is the one of the two foreshadowed items from the author's note at the end of Chapter 18, the one less likely to be noticed-Luna knowing how to use the soul phone.

(2) This refers to the fight between Kuchiki and Kurosaki during the Soul Society arc. It includes Ichigo's first battle manifestation of _bankai_.

(3) First time was in the movie, "The Diamond Dust Rebellion."

()()()()

**AUTHOR'S EXPLANATION: **I'm breaking a life-long rule here. I'm interrupting the story to explain something. This will be my one and ONLY attempt at a soapbox rant. Read or not as you see fit.

I will be addressing two points here. The first I can handle quickly. Some reviewers and PM'ers have asked when we'll see more of Harry. As stated at the beginning, the first half of this fanfic will be primarily from the Bleach character's p.o.v. The second half will be more on Harry and his interactions with Avalon/Soul Society. If I follow my outline, I still have 31 more chapters to go, so this story isn't even halfway done yet. Harry fans, please be patient. His part will come soon enough.

Second (and this will take longer to address): some of my reviewers feel that the reapers are wimpy or underpowered. They see the shinigami as far more powerful than the wizards and therefore shouldn't be beaten by them.

In the original Bleach arc, Rukia was significantly weakened by being in a gigai. Other shinigami like Renji have complained how they are constricted by being in a gigai, so we can assume that this is the norm. This has influenced Toshiro's, Rangiku's, and Yoruichi's altercations with wizards. It will also affect several upcoming battles.

In both manga and anime, no matter how powerful they are, the shinigami tend to stumble when they first fight a new enemy with exotic weapons or powers. It happened when they first faced Bounts, Arrancars, Vizoreds, and *SPOILER* even Reigai. When Toshiro was captured, my goal was to show that he was powerful but caught off guard by unknown enemies and their unfamiliar magical spells. He was at a disadvantage, having never faced a wizard intent on doing him harm. During the rescue attempt, Yoruichi fought in a gigai, trying to protect Hitsugaya in a cramped corridor where she was unable to fully harness her powers. Yes, Yoruichi carried Ichigo over her shoulder and evaded Byakuya in the Soul Society arc, but she was out in the open, able to jump around and above Byakuya to even the playing field, and was not locked into an artificial body at the time. In this story, Toshiro and Yoruichi faced very powerful wizards―war veterans who used the fullest extent of their powers.

We have yet to see a fair fight between a reaper and a wizard. Next chapter, when the rescue party battles wizards who think they are in the right, defending the castle and its innocent students, the individual combats will vary, because of the unique powers of each shinigami's zanpakuto, their level of control over kido, and the power level and convictions of the wizards fighting what they believe to be a valiant fight. Whether the shinigami are more powerful than wizards will be decided on a case-by-case basis.

How fast can Dumbledore or Snape (or aurors like Moody) cast spells? They don't even need to voice the spell to make it happen, they just think it. Kido works much in the same way. Only the most experienced and powerful kido-masters (like Yoruichi Shihoin) can use it without the incantation, but precious few shinigami can cast a kido without at least calling its name―in that category, some wizards can best most reapers. Wizard spells also have more variety and complexity than we've seen of kido. Shinigami make up for that shortcoming with their powerful zanpakutos, but again, that power level varies from reaper to reaper, just as the power of one's spells and their wands varies with wizards.

One final thing to remember: some of the humans will be fighting to kill, while the reapers will be holding back. The reapers will be further hampered by both _gentei kaijo _(power limiters placed on officers to reduce the effects of their spiritual pressure on mortals; only Ichigo is excluded from this) and the need for secrecy (making the wizards think they are a different branch of magic users in order to hide the reaper society).

Okay. Stepping off my soapbox now. In fact, I'm asking Ichigo to blast it for me. There. I'm done.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Wednesday morning - day 5

A/N: AND THE LADY SINGS HER BLEACH BATTLE SONG!(1)

LET THE RESCUE ... BEGIN!

Jushiro Ukitake stepped through the Avalonian Senkeimon, beside Byakuya Kuchiki, Shunsui Kyoraku, Aina Sigursdottur and Armand Rousseau. The remaining reapers arrived behind them, spreading forward and around in a loose, arcing fan shape. In addition to the Seireitei party and the Avalon captains, Field Marshal d'Tournay had ordered six lieutenants and four knights to join the mission only minutes before he opened the gate through the Precipice World.

The Senkeimon closed behind them and faded away. The reapers stood on a worn pathway―bare of vegetation, with packed earth and parallel ruts caused by the repeated passage of wheeled vehicles. Both before and behind them, the road curved away, leaving them secluded and unnoticed.

_With any luck, _Ukitake thought, _our nineteen fighters and two healers will be enough. In total, we have seven captains, eight lieutenants, four knights, one seventh-seat healer, and one substitute shinigami. I can't speak for the Avalonian junior officers, but Abarai is powerful enough to have achieved bankai and Matsumoto is a seasoned fighter. With this level of power, we should have little trouble. Of course, now that I've thought that, it might be best to plan for a worst-case scenario._

_Kurosaki will be the wild card in today's events. Captain-level reiatsu, often uncontrolled ... along with his hot temper ... and no power seal._

"Oi, Jushiro."

"Shunsui?"

Kyoraku scratched the side of his neck. He studied the bushes to the side of the road, the yellow-haloed clouds overhead, and the bare earth beneath his feet. He looked everywhere except toward his oldest friend.

"This isn't the first time ... I mean, you've always been reluctant to even raise your voice around children. In the past ... you spent more time scolding than fighting. We may be forced to enter the school to find Hitsugaya and Shihoin ... we could end up fighting some of the older students. Will you―"

Ukitake smiled at his friend's discomfort and hesitation. "If that happens, I'll leave the dirty work to you."

Kyoraku grimaced. "That wasn't the answer I was hoping for. Besides ... your health ... If the fighting is too fierce, you might―"

With a chuckle born from centuries of friendship, Ukitake laid his right hand on his fellow captain's shoulder and said, "I may not have a strong constitution, but I am a Master Sword Specialist and excel at both kido and shunpo." The fingertips of his left hand brushed over the bronze crossguard of his katana. "Sogyo no Kotowari's _shikai _is ideal for negating most enemy attacks. It should be the same for the wizards' spells. I can evade, resist and subdue without hurting my opponent or myself, Shunsui. Whether they are veteran or apprentice magic users won't make any difference. I'll be fine."

Kyoraku tipped his straw hat further back on his tousled head and whined, "You're bragging, Jushiro. That's not like you. And besides, I'm all of those, as well."

"I spoke facts. You bragged. There's a difference." Ukitake smiled at his friend.

The Avalonian Division 6 captain, Aina Sigursdottur, interrupted any further discussion. "The gates to the school are around the next bend in the road. Release your weapons."

With a metallic whisper, Ukitake drew Sogyo no Kotowari from its sheath and intoned in Japanese, _"Nami kotogotoku waga tate to nare, ikazuchi kotogotoku waga yaiba to nare! (Waves, Become my Shield, Lightning, Become my Blade!)"_

Incantation complete, Jushiro gripped the dark red handle in both hands. The single katana blade divided into two separate weapons connected by a red, rope-like chain at the base of both hilts. Five rectangular charms dangled at intervals along the rope. Blades and charms shone like polished silver in the early morning sunlight.

Beside him, Shunsui Kyoraku stood with Katen Kyokotsu in _shikai _form―two oversized, heavily-curved, black Chinese scimitars with silver edges and long scarlet tassels dangling from the hilts. All around them, grim reapers and shinigami voiced their weapons' release chants. Some releases were subtle, almost fluid. Others were flashy to the point of garish.

A select few of the reapers remained silent. Ichigo Kurosaki, for one, carried Zangetsu in a perpetually released state. Other zanpakutos, like Matsumoto's Haineko and Kuchiki's Senbonzakura, did not release into a passive, bearable form; they were effective only in the direct moments of battle.

Through their ancient bond, Sogyo no Kotowari voiced a low murmur of discordant jealousy and distress inside Ukitake's head. After a long moment, the white-haired captain understood what had so unsettled his zanpakuto. Knuckles rubbed along the cool, green sash that bisected the front of his captain's haori. The back of his left hand, still holding a sword, pressed against a starflower broach. A familiar katana with a four-point star crossguard lay diagonally across his back.

Sensing his unrest, Shunsui Kyoraku leaned closer to his old friend and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Sogyo no Kotowari is upset."

The flamboyant, womanizing Captain of Soul Society's Squad 8 eyed the ice blue hilt visible over Ukitake's right shoulder and immediately reasoned out the problem. "Are they jealous?"

"Jealous ... and troubled―no, it's more ... anxious, or concerned."

Kyoraku nodded, his eyes still on the blue hilt. "Katen Kyokotsu feels it, too. Hyorinmaru is weakening. He's starting to fade." Shunsui sighed and shook his head. "Judging by the strength of his zanpakuto, Hitsugaya's in a bad way. If we don't get to him soon, Old Man Yama's executive order may be a moot point."

Byakuya Kuchiki stared up the road and said, "We have company."

A slender teenage girl―dressed in a black school robe, radish earrings dangling above her shoulders―stood at the end of the road, between them and Hogwarts. Her golden-blonde hair was wild and uncombed. Blue eyes the color of a robin's egg studied them in return. Within moments, her entire body relaxed, as though a great weight had been lifted.

"You're here. I'm so glad. I was beginning to wonder if you'd make it in time."

Jushiro Ukitake waited for either Kuchiki or Sigursdottur, the joint leaders of the rescue party, to answer. When neither the noble nor the battle leader moved, the white-haired captain of Squad 13 stepped forward in their place.

_Perhaps this is for the best. Byakuya's strengths lay more in strategy, command and battle. He has little of the patience required to console traumatized teenage girls. He could negotiate if necessary, but someone else might handle the job better. Though I don't know Captain Sigursdottur very well, she reminds me too much of Zaraki Kenpachi for comfort. Not in the maniacal sense, but rather in a strong thirst for battle. I doubt she has any more patience than Kuchiki in situations that require tact and diplomacy._

_Since I have negotiated many times in the past, it falls to me to be the voice of reason during this endeavor. Of all the reaper captains present, I have the least frightening or intimidating demeanor and appearance. In addition, it will leave Kuchiki and Sigursdottur free to examine the overall landscape and opposition._

_I'm also honest enough to admit an uncomfortable truth, especially after Shunsui's not-so-subtle reminder. While I possess the high reiatsu and strong personality to be a captain, my health is a major factor. Though I feel quite well at the present moment, I could quickly slide downhill. Better to use other skills to hopefully defuse this situation._

_After all, the best fight is the one you avoid._

Ukitake stepped to the front of the rescue party and offered the girl a kind smile. Soft brown eyes met her gaze with open honesty.

"You must be Luna. My name is Jushiro Ukitake. We spoke earlier. Thank you for helping us."

Having moved closer to the girl, the gentle captain noticed an abundance of scratches and bruises on her hands and face, while rips, grass stains and other things ruined her black robes. Smudges of dirt and dried tear tracks marked her pale cheeks. Her blue eyes should have been bright with curiosity; instead, they were swollen and bloodshot, heavy with afterimages of what she'd witnessed. When she stepped forward with a slight limp, Ukitake saw blood left behind in her footprint.

"You're injured."

She shrugged the subject away. "Such things are bound to happen when one runs willy-nilly into the woods. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Drained by shock from the morning's horrors, Luna's eyes lost focus. Her slender body swayed as exhaustion and relief sapped her remaining strength. Ukitake caught her as she slumped toward the ground. He knelt on the rutted road with Luna in his arms, her body quaking hard enough to rattle her teeth. The captain tightened his hold, hoping to convey comfort.

Ukitake called, "Hanataro," only to find the young seventh seat healer already kneeling beside him, an overstuffed bag of medical supplies strapped to his back. A soft kido light surrounded the youngster's hands as he held them over Luna's left foot.

"Ohh, that ... that does feel good," Luna's voice shook even as she tried to smile away their concern.

For a few moments, the rescue party could do nothing but wait and watch, as the earnest young healer went to work.

"I've repaired the injuries to your foot," Hanataro said even as he directed healing kido towards her hands. "The bruises and scratches should be healed in a few moments. Since your magic is similar to our spirit energy, I can give you a little strength, but it won't last long. By your condition, I'd say it's been well over 30 hours since you last slept, and you haven't eaten anything, so your reserves are very low. Once this extra energy is gone, you're probably going to sleep for at least ten hours."

"At that point, I will probably welcome a rest," Luna said with a sigh.

A shadow fell across them. Aina Sigursdottur hovered over the three, fists on hips, arms akimbo. The tiny girl shrank closer to Ukitake's chest in an unconscious search for protection. Not that he could blame her in the least. The Avalon captain was taller than anyone else in the party. She wore her silver hair bound in a fat braided bun. In addition to her zanpakuto, various weapons dotted her person, including the twin daggers held in place by the tight bun.

_Backlit as she is by the rising sun, hair ablaze with yellow light, her face cast into heavy shadow, she certainly puts forth a frightening image. Not to mention the pressure of her reiatsu. Even bound, it must feel oppressive to someone who isn't used to it._

The female captain gripped the hilt of her Viking spatha. "What can you tell us about the castle and its defenses?"

Luna looked up at Jushiro, as if seeking reassurance. Ukitake smiled and nodded. "Please, Luna. Anything you can give us will help."

With all seven captains gathered around her, Luna detailed the school grounds, going so far as to draw a crude map in the bare earth with the tip of her wand. She marked the locations of the main gate, ward boundaries, lake, greenhouses, and Quidditch pitch, as well as various entries into and out of Hogwarts. She described the interior of the castle, in particular the route they must follow to reach the sub-dungeon. She made sure to caveat her descriptions with a warning: Hogwarts had a disturbing habit of moving rooms and stairways, especially when the school or the students might be in danger. Likewise would Hogwarts have additional defenses, both physical and magical, that would deploy at the Headmaster's command, though with regret she could not give them any details beyond guesswork.

Having told them all that she could, Luna closed her eyes and slumped against Ukitake's white haori. He rubbed her back in soothing circles.

When Ichigo Kurosaki knelt beside them and laid his hand on hers, Luna opened her eyes. Seeing the red-haired teen, she giggled and said, "Another Weasley? Goodness, they do seem to be everywhere!"

Though he did not catch the joke, Ukitake recognized her need for humor. He joined her in laughter, as did Kurosaki.

"You're a good person, Luna Lovegood." Ichigo expressed his admiration with a tender smile that softened his light brown eyes. Jushiro smothered a grin at the soft blush that tinted Luna's cheeks. "Thank you for sticking your neck out for our friends."

Rangiku Matsumoto also knelt beside her. "Yes. Thank you so much for everything you've done to help Hitsugaya-_taicho _and Lady Yoruichi."

Luna inhaled, filling her lungs to maximum, and released it in one hard gust. She patted Ukitake's arm and sat up.

"I do believe I feel well enough to open the gate. Shall we go?"

()()()()

"Fawkes, this silent treatment has gone on long enough, don't you think?"

Albus Dumbledore glared at his phoenix familiar. Fawkes stood silent and stiff, his back to the room. Even someone unfamiliar with the bird would read disapproval in every wing-twitch and claw-shuffle. To Dumbledore, who had known the phoenix for decades, the message was unmistakable. Fawkes was angry and reproachful, having found fault with his human's course of action.

Exasperated by the firebird's perceived snit, the Hogwarts Headmaster turned away from Fawkes' perch and returned to his desk. Though the hour was early, shortly past six in the a.m., he had not seen his bed since a short nap the evening before. With a second prisoner in their custody, his efforts to break the spirit of the homunculus should have progressed at a much faster pace. Instead, both captives were quite vocal and unbendingly stubborn.

Shoulders slumped in fatigue, Dumbledore forced himself to turn his attention to school matters, even though he would much rather seek his bed.

He had to decide, by the end of the day at the latest, what to do with his prisoners. Undoubtedly, the female would not be working alone. When she failed to check in, another spy would take her place, probably an advance scout for a rescue party. Equally obvious, she had help from someone inside the castle. Otherwise, the were-cat should not have made it past the school's wards. Without help, she should never have found the sub-dungeon, let alone accessed the password-protected entrance. Dumbledore had strengthened the boundary protections to one level below lockdown, but he could not guarantee an alert without knowing their route through the wards.

It went without saying, he would relocate his prizes as soon as possible. His main question was: should he keep the two together, using one against the other, or would his interests be better served by holding them at separate locations? There were advantages and disadvantages to each course of action. What to do, what to do...

On the right corner of his desk, a small, unobtrusive globe mounted on a narrow silver pedestal emitted a shrill alarm and spat out a thick red vapor. All thoughts of fatigue gone, Dumbledore laid his palm on the vibrating device and said, "Reveal."

The red vapor solidified into a large square upon which formed a string of words. As he read the warning message, Dumbledore's surprise and tension mounted.

_Ten ... __fifteen ... twenty-one distinct physical signatures. Spirits, but not ghosts. Solid, substantial, not ephemeral like a normal specter. They can't be Death Eaters but … what are they? The boundary spells are registering a frightful amount of power. There's a small hint of negative energy-dark magic. Wait! The energy signatures ... where have I-no! They're identical to the spirit inside the homunculus!_

_They didn't send a scout. They sent a full rescue party! But how can that be? They should have waited until the students were gone. It's far too early for a pitched battle. I haven't even begun to set traps or ambushes!_

A dozen different scenarios flashed through the Headmaster's thoughts, each grimmer than the one before it. Depending on how events played out, the unsuspecting school staff (and after them, the general wizarding populace) would learn of his activities. In his own mind, his actions were justified. Less courageous or dedicated individuals might not see it the same way. Even worse, he stood to lose all access to the only sources of information available on this precious new power.

_I have no choice but to rely on the regular Hogwarts defenses. If I can limit the staffs' interactions with the outsiders, I may yet salvage this situation._

He activated a school-wide sonorus spell, sending his voice to every corner of Hogwarts. "Attention. An unknown force has entered Hogwarts grounds. Until we can ascertain their intentions, all students must return to your common rooms. Heads of House, verify that all students are accounted for then join the remaining staff in the main hall."

He cancelled the spell then threw floo powder into the fireplace. The instant green flames leaped up, Dumbledore called, "Grimmauld Place!"

Alastor Moody's scarred face and artificial left eye appeared, wreathed in green fire. _"You're calling damn early, Albus. Something wrong?"_

"Hogwarts is under attack by an unknown force, Alastor. I believe they are friends of the being you and Snape captured last Friday evening. Gather as many of the Order as you can and portkey into my office. You have five minutes before I shut down all outside connections and shift the boundary protections to lockdown level."

Moody wasted no time with a reply. He disappeared from the fireplace, off to carry out the Headmaster's orders.

As he activated the spells that blocked all physical access to the castle, closing and locking every door and window, Dumbledore briefly considered calling Auror Headquarters for additional manpower but decided against it. The fewer wizards who interacted with the newcomers, the more control he would have over the situation. Hogwarts staff and Order members were either beholden to him in some way or vulnerable to his influence. The same could not be said for everyone in the Ministry of Magic or the Auror Corps. Better all around if he maintained a position of power over the current situation.

Fourteen wizards and witches portkeyed into the Headmaster's office, all of them clad in rumpled or hastily donned clothing. Among them were Alastor Moody, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Remus Lupin. Albus raised the ward levels and shut down all floo access. With Hogwarts as secure as he could make it, Dumbledore led the newcomers toward the main hall. Once there, he found the Hogwarts staff, including the four Heads of House, waiting anxiously.

Professor McGonagall immediately demanded, "Albus, what on earth is happening? Is it the Death Eaters?"

"I'm not yet certain who approaches, Minerva, only that the wards do not recognize them. According to the readings, they are very powerful. There is also a trace of dark magic energy in their midst. For this reason, everyone will remain safely inside the Hogwarts walls. I will go out alone to determine their purpose and level of threat."

Dismay increased McGonagall's Scottish brogue. "Ye canna be serious! Albus, ye have no idea what sort of danger ye'll be facing!"

"She's right," Mad-Eye Moody seconded the Deputy Headmistress's objections. "Going out alone is daft, even for you, Albus. Better we all stay inside and wait 'em out."

"We can't afford to do that," Albus replied. "Delay could endanger our students. Don't worry. I'll be quite safe. Remain here until I return."

"And if you _don't _come back?" Professor Filius Flitwick asked. "What then?"

"If violence should erupt despite my best efforts, you are to defend Hogwarts by any means necessary. Our students' safety must take utmost priority."

Catching Snape's gaze, Dumbledore tried to convey additional orders using legilimency. If Albus failed to disperse the rescue party, the Potions Master should remove all evidence of their intelligence-gathering activities, up to and including disposing of their two prisoners. With a dark smirk, Snape nodded his understanding.

Confident that he'd done everything in his power to minimize the risk to his plans (not to mention make himself seem brave and heroic), Albus Dumbledore released the magical protections on the great Hogwarts main doors and stepped through, onto the top step.

The newcomers' intentions, whether peaceful or belligerent, made no difference. He would end this conflict and get rid of the strangers before any wizards learned the truth. If it meant killing every one of the newcomers, so be it.

()()()()

Ichigo Kurosaki stood to the left and slightly behind Jushiro Ukitake, close enough to see and hear (not to mention fight) but not to intrude. The remainder of their force fanned out into defensive positions-Captains front and center, lieutenants and knights guarding their rear and flanks. The two healers stood directly behind the captains, protected within the reaper circle.

With Luna's help, the rescue party had entered the main gates and even now approached the school doors. When the giant wrought iron gates had swung wide, the reapers hurried onto the grounds, determined to be well inside the borders of the school before Dumbledore engaged the defenses. Luna remained in the shelter of the forest, along with the centaur, Firenze, and a herd of the strangest, ugliest winged ... things ... they sure as hell weren't horses ... that Ichigo had ever seen.

Kurosaki shuddered as he recalled the dozen or so beasts that appeared with the barest rustle of the roadside brush. _Damn things tried to LICK me. And not just me. They were nudging and licking every one of us! Luna said they were harmless, just attracted to us reapers, but still! They look too much like hollows to be harmless, just without the masks._

_A reluctant smile flickered around his lips.__ Still, the look on Byakuya's face when one of those things tried to munch on his scarf was kinda funny._

Mentally stepping away from the memory, the substitute shinigami stared up at the ancient castle, awed by the strength that saturated every stone. It felt like a captain-level spiritual pressure, a sleeping mass of energy devoid of sentience, coiled and ready to be accessed by someone with the authority and skill to wield it. His reiatsu recognized something similar but not identical to itself, which both reassured and disturbed him. This structure was surely hundreds, if not thousands, of years old. How much power would be available to its defenders?

A small portion of his attention not devoted to the upcoming confrontation appreciated the majesty and magic. Everything within their sight-from the castle itself to the fog-covered lake, tangled forest, and distant mountains-felt supernatural. Sunlight rebounded off glass windowpanes, while ivy climbed many stories up the outside walls, in some cases completely framing the sun-kissed windows. Light and greenery softened what might otherwise be a hard, intimidating structure. Tall, ivy-draped towers crowned with crenelated edges, fluttering flags and stone gargoyles spoke of history and permanence. The grounds were a combination of groomed and wild, like the land itself resisted human efforts to tame its inherent mysticism.

_It's overwhelming, almost cliché_, he thought, _like something from a living, breathing fairy tale. All it needs are kappas in the lake and unicorns in the forest._

Around and through the building, doors slammed, locking mechanisms snapped into place, and shutters banged closed. In less than 30 seconds, all access to Hogwarts Castle was blocked. Two minutes later, power rippled across the heavens. All hints of breeze vanished, replaced by an oppressive pressure.

"Just as the girl predicted," Aina Sigursdottur pointed skyward, "the Headmaster has raised the boundary protections and sealed the castle against attack. Until he or Deputy Headmistress McGonagall releases the defenses, no one will enter or leave Hogwarts grounds."

"Remain alert," Byakuya Kuchiki ordered. "We don't know what actions our enemy will take."

Tense minutes passed without response from the wizards. Ichigo paced back and forth, and said, "Nothing's happening. I say to hell with it and blast the doors down."

"Then it's well that you're not in charge of this mission," Kuchiki replied in his usual regal, droll fashion.

_Damn you, Byakuya, you're deliberately trying to wind me up. Well guess what? At this point, I'm so tired of waiting that I'll let you do it!_

"Y'know what? You can take your stuffy noble airs and shove 'em straight up-"

Shunshui Kyoraku pointed to the castle and cut across the budding argument. "Someone's coming out."

All reapers' attention shifted to the main doors. One of the two massive rectangles of magically reinforced wood and metal swung open just enough to permit a single person to exit.

Ichigo eyed the old man with the ridiculously long hair and beard, shook his head, and groaned.

_It's a Great Wizard Merlin wannabe! Bright purple robes with moving stars and moons, and the tall, pointy hat-could he look any sillier? Ugh! It's a good thing Uryu Ishida isn't here. After one look at that ridiculous get-up, the Quincy fashion-plate would shriek in horror and spout the world's most violent nosebleed!_

In a voice that couldn't be any more pompous, the old man said, "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are trespassing on school property. I demand that you withdraw immediately."

Ukitake stepped forward, Sogyo no Kotowari's twin blades temporarily sheathed in order to minimize his potential threat. The white-haired shinigami captain offered a small bow and said, "I am Jushiro Ukitake. I will speak for my companions. I am both friend and comrade of the two wizards you hold prisoner inside your school. We don't wish any form of confrontation. If you return our friends to us, we will leave peacefully."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. There is no one at the school who does not belong. If you leave now, I will lower the wards to allow your passage. If you stay, you will face the consequences," Dumbledore intoned in his most imperious voice.

Ukitake shook his head, and took a half-step forward. "Toshiro Hitsugaya and Yoruichi Shihoin are inside this castle's walls. We know this to be true. We also know what has been done to them. In spite of our righteous anger, we of the Unified Magical Enclaves do not wish to fight with our magical brothers and sisters. Release our friends to us and we will leave."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the utter stupidity of their cover story (and ignoring the fact that it was his idea to begin with), Kurosaki turned away from the dialogue. He found his attention drawn to the door behind the old wizard.

_I wonder if the old fart knows it didn't close behind him. If he doesn't and we take him down fast enough, we can get inside before anyone has a chance to close and lock it. If he does and it's a trap, we'll still get in. No way are they stopping us now. Toshiro and Yoruichi are leaving with us, Yamamoto's 'executive order' be damned. If they try to stop us, these wizards will go down, hard._

A hint of shuffling beyond the door drew his gaze. The portal wobbled, first closing a fraction then opening again, as though people inside fought over whether the door should remain opened or closed.

_Luna was right. Not everyone's in on the big secret. Someone inside wants to keep the rest ignorant, while everyone else wants to hear what's going on. I wonder if the others are seeing this, too?_

Ichigo glanced toward the gathered captains. Following the line of Kuchiki's and Kyoraku's eyes, he reckoned they did.

The door opened ahead of two wizards and two witches. One of the men attempted to hold the others back without success.

"Albus. What in the name of Merlin is going on here?"

The Headmaster slashed his hand and ordered, "Get back inside."

"No. I willna! I want to know what is happening."

Ukitake answered before Dumbledore could repeat his order. "We do not wish to fight, milady. We want only to take our friends and return home."

An extremely short, stocky man with a squeaky voice asked, "Why would you think they're here?"

"Last Friday evening, a member of our society was attacked and kidnapped while visiting friends in London. Our advance scout learned that he was being held in a cell deep beneath this castle. Unfortunately, she was captured last night while attempting a rescue," Ukitake replied, keeping his voice calm but firm.

"You say your friend was kidnapped?" the older woman said, her voice skeptical but with enough tolerance to show she'd hear their evidence. "Can you prove this? And how on earth can it possibly connect to Hogwarts?"

"We have a witness who was injured when she tried to stop the kidnapping." Ukitake motioned for Matsumoto to step forward. "Rangiku. Are any present who participated in Hitsugaya's capture?"

The buxom lieutenant pointed toward the hawk-nosed man with greasy black hair. "Him. He was there, along with an older man―heavily scarred, peg-legged, with a spinning false eye." She jabbed an accusing finger directly at Snape. "_That _one cast a cutting spell at me."

"She's lying!" The wizard Snape snapped back. "The very thought is preposterous."

"Is it really?" the shorter of the two witches, a frumpy woman clad in simple brown robes, said. "She seems quite certain. And I can see a bandage on her shoulder even from here."

The other woman glared daggers at Snape. "Not to mention, she described Alastor Moody to a fare-the-well."

With great reluctance (Kurosaki could almost see the scheming thoughts racing through the old man's mind), Dumbledore said, "Perhaps ... there has been a misunderstanding." Ichigo snorted. _Y'think? _"I will admit, some of what you say is true."

The smallest wizard and both witches gasped. The older one said in dismay, "Albus!"

Dumbledore did not reply to her. Instead, he addressed his next statement to Ukitake and those gathered around him.

"Our world currently faces a terrible threat. A very powerful and ruthless dark wizard is terrorizing both the magical and muggle worlds. In our zeal to defeat this enemy, we may have overstepped the boundaries of what is acceptable. In our defense, I can only say that every effort was made to find a mutually agreeable exchange."

_Yeah, like we believe that. _The substitute shinigami made no effort to hide his disgust, rolling his eyes and sneering at the old man's pathetic attempt to salvage a hopeless situation.

"Whether or not this is true," Ukitake replied, "the fact remains. You hold two of our people prisoner. Return them to us."

"Might I offer a proposition?" Dumbledore countered. "To defeat Voldemort, we need every ally and advantage that we can find. Your people may be just such an ally. Do you have authority to discuss an alliance between our peoples?"

"I do," Ukitake admitted, "but there will be no such talks so long as Toshiro Hitsugaya and Yoruichi Shihoin remain prisoners. We will not be blackmailed into any action, even negotiations that would benefit both magical communities."

Dumbledore gazed at him for a moment, as if his piercing blue eyes were trying to see through him. A flash of frustration crossed his face then he spoke, "Quite understandable. Very well. Yourself and two others may enter the castle and retrieve your companions. I'm afraid that I cannot allow a larger party inside the school ... for the safety of our students, you understand."

Ichigo watched Ukitake mull over the offer. None of the reapers believed the old fart intended to hand over his hostages without any kind of fight, but with so many wizard witnesses, what could he do?

"You guarantee our safety while inside your walls?" Ukitake asked.

"I do. So long as you offer neither threat nor harm, no one will stop you."

"Very well. We accept your offer. Kyoraku. Kurosaki. Come with me."

The three reapers separated from the group and approached the school steps. Ichigo paid particular attention to the wand in Dumbledore's right hand, so was ready when the Headmaster pointed it toward the reaper's negotiator and said, "Incendio."

A jet of red flames shot across the distance. With shunpo speed, Ichigo leapt between Dumbledore and Ukitake. He drew Zangetsu in a single, fluid move. With a single-handed swing, the substitute shinigami batted away the spell. The redirected fireball shot skyward, bursting like a fireworks against the boundary ward.

Kurosaki vaguely noted the frozen expressions of surprise on the teachers' faces. Furious, he deliberately released a portion of his reiatsu. Other reapers did the same. The air thickened with leashed energy. Every wizard staggered under the intense pressure.

"You kidnap our friends then ambush us after you've invited us inside with a promise of safety," Ichigo glared at the bearded wizard. "If it's a war you want, old man, that's what you're gonna get. But I promise you, we're not leaving without our friends, even if it means we have to tear this place apart stone by stone."

Byakuya Kuchiki scowled and commanded, "Kurosaki. Stand down."

Zangetsu never wavered, its wicked point aimed directly at Dumbledore's chest. "No. I don't trust this bastard not to try another underhanded trick."

Renji Abarai squeezed Kurosaki's shoulder and whispered, "Ichigo, please. Let Ukitake-_taicho _handle it."

Against his better judgment, Ichigo let his shoulders relax. His zanpakuto tipped down until its blade rested on the grass.

The instant Zangetsu touched the ground, Dumbledore shouted a short phrase in Latin and jabbed his wand directly at the reapers. Zangetsu (and every other zanpakuto) snapped to battle-ready.

Ichigo braced for a spell that never came. A breathless moment passed. And another. The silence broke with the grind of stone against stone and the jangle of animated metal. Granite gargoyles attacked from above even as stone statues and metal suits of armor marched through the great doors, knocking magic users left and right as they came.

The older witch cried out, "Albus, no! These defenses are only to be used in direst need!"

"Which we now face! Everyone, attack the invaders!" Dumbledore cried. "Protect our students!"

Ichigo glanced back at Ukitake and said, "We tried. I guess the fight is on."

As Kurosaki leapt forward to swat away a red beam of light, he heard Ukitake whisper, "Yes. It is."

()()()()

(1) For the HP fans who haven't seen many episodes of the Bleach anime, a particular song (titled "Number One") plays every time Ichigo prepares to kick butt. The singer is Hazel Fernandez. The song is a readily recognizable sign that something violent and righteous is about to happen. You can Google videos for "Bleach Number One" to find it.

A/N: To one reviewer in particular who has blocked PM responses. Don't like? Don't read. Flames are nothing more than gusts of hot air, good only for roasting marshmallows. They are never constructive, only destructive, and say more about the flamer than they do about the story or author in question.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

**A/N: I give half of the creation, organization, detailing, and just plain hard labor on this chapter to CressidaRene. Without her help, Chapters 22-23 Hogwarts Battle Sequence would not be even half so well organized and canonically accurate. Without argument, she is the co-author of this segment of RotFH. Cressie, bless you!**

Sunlight reflected off of Sogyo no Kotowari's twin blades, held low but ready to respond to any threat. Jushiro Ukitake surveyed the battlefield from his place immediately in front of the two healers.

_What else can you call it, when men and women, wizards and reapers, fight one another so zealously?_

An instant after Dumbledore ordered everyone to "protect the students," the Headmaster activated another school ward. Transparent shields the color of molten gold appeared around himself and some but not all of the castle's defenders.

_They're probably limited to those who serve as teachers or administrators. Low-to-mid level kido spells bounce off the shields with no lasting damage. Destroying them without harming the wizard or witch inside will not be easy._

Directly before him, closest to the school's main doors, Ichigo Kurosaki and Albus Dumbledore exchanged spells and power pulses. The substitute shinigami stood high above the ground and shunpoed short distances, dodging, cutting sizzling beams of magic in half or batting them away with the flat side of his zanpakuto. The Headmaster stood alone on the main steps, the only wizard able to protect the school's entrance, through which poured additional animated statues and suits of armor.

Despite the strength and variety of attacks, Kurosaki moved too fast to be struck. On the other hand, Dumbledore's gold bubble kept Ichigo from making a direct hit, either with a physical strike or a reflected spell.

In another area, Ukitake's best friend 'toyed' (for want of a better word) with an older witch protected by one of the defensive shields and a scarred, greying man in threadbare robes. Judging by Kyoraku's halfhearted response to their most determined attacks, he fought to keep them occupied and unhurt until, hopefully, a peaceful solution could be found. Low-level kido kept the man hopping around. While Shunsui could not destroy the shield without endangering the witch, he could influence the air and ground around her. More often than not, the witch had to pay more attention to the holes and piled earth under her feet than to actual spell-casting. Sudden gusts of kido-created hurricane-force winds repeatedly knocked Shunsui's opponents off their feet.

Renji Abarai also faced two opponents protected by glowing golden globes―the frumpy woman in brown robes and the small man, both of whom had joined Dumbledore on the main steps prior to the fighting. The Squad 6 lieutenant was infamous in regards to kido disasters―for all his training, experience and high spiritual pressure, Abarai struggled to cast a successful kido. This left him with only speed, agility and weapons prowess. Zabimaru's long-distance serrated whip attacks held the wizard and witch at bay, as well as blocked their spell beams, but to Ukitake's eye, the little man was an experienced duelist. Given a single opening, the tide of the battle could be reversed, and Abarai would be the one on the defensive.

Captain Sigursdottur joined two of the Avalonian lieutenants in battle against the remaining wizards. Rousseau, Matsumoto, the remaining lieutenants and knights focused their attacks on more than four hundred creatures of wood, crystal, stone, or metal. In addition to the animated stone or metal armor and the flying gargoyles, every carved or chiseled garden statue, fountain figure, and decorative sculpture larger than a mastiff dog either walked or flew out onto the school's lawn. Even the gate's winged boars had joined in the castle's defense.

Rangiku Matsumoto and one of the Avalon lieutenants, aided by an occasional kido from Ukitake, kept the automatons from attacking Kurosaki. Freed from that distraction, the substitute shinigami could give his full attention to battling Dumbledore.

Though hard-pressed, the Avalonian captain and junior officers kept the non-living defenses from reaching the captains. Only complete destruction permanently stopped the automatons―the loss of even half of their body mass was insufficient to destroy the magic that controlled their movement.

Due either to their lower spiritual pressure and shorter experience in duels, the junior reapers took the brunt of the injuries, either from blunt force trauma or shrapnel impacts as the unliving figures as zanpakutos or kido shattered, crushed, or melted them to slag. A knight fell back, impaled through the leg by a jagged strip of former armor. Hanataro Yamada ran to the fallen reaper, levitated him on a "stretcher" formed from condensed reiatsu, and hurried back to the medic's camp where Captain DuLay assessed the injury and initiated treatment. Seeing another knight fall, Hanataro darted back onto the battlefield and performed another rescue.

Ukitake looked back at the fair and delicate-seeming Avalonian captain whose hands glowed with powerful healing energy. He couldn't resist asking, "Why don't you use the healing dome that Lieutenant Abarai told me about?"

Without looking up, Anissina DuLay replied, "I would have to key entry for each individual both coming and going. This would restrict Healer Yamada's efforts to gather the wounded in one location and delay healing to those already inside the dome. That is, unfortunately, Lunalyn's main Release-form weakness. Her Awakened form is stronger, larger and more versatile, but would increase the risk to anyone who accidentally bumped into the dome. If Lunalyn felt any threat whatsoever, I would be hard-pressed to keep her from making a critical, perhaps even lethal, response. An excellent defense when fighting a swarm of hollows. Not so good when fighting mortals."

"Ah. I understand," Ukitake said and turned his attention back to the various conflicts.

By far the fiercest battle of all, Byakuya Kuchiki and Severus Snape fought to Ukitake's far right, on the outermost edge of the battle zone. Nobleman and potion master held nothing back, each determined to destroy the other. Senbonzakura's pink steel sakura petals flickered and sparkled in the early morning sunlight as they fogged the air, seeking any weakness in the golden dome. From within its protection, Snape cast powerful curses and hexes, forcing Kuchiki to divert some of his zanpakuto's attention. Already, a blood trail ran down the nobleman's face, from his dark hairline to the scarf around his throat.

The one who worried him most was Daniel Gilbreathe. The Avalon captain was even more soft-hearted and gentle than Jushiro Ukitake himself. At least Ukitake knew when battles could and should be fought. In addition to being relatively new to his position as captain, Gilbreathe held a strong sense of guilt, above and beyond what he felt for what had happened to Toshiro Hitsugaya. His opponents―a middle-aged man and woman, both red-heads―fought with what could only be described as a vicious desire to protect their children. They pounded Gilbreathe with spell after spell. The wavy blade of the captain's flamberge glowed with spectral fire and his blue-white flame-fox successfully deflected or absorbed every spell, but against two such fanatical opponents, Gilbreathe must strengthen his attacks or risk defeat, injury or even death.

Prodded by an instinct borne from centuries of battle, Ukitake twisted and leaned far to the right. A mustard yellow beam passed through the space he'd occupied only an instant before.

A heavily scarred man with a wooden leg and wildly spinning false eye gave him no time to adjust. Ukitake raised Sogyo no Kotowari's left blade. A powerful cutting curse soaked into the katana, raced down the connective cord, and emerged from the right blade as a burst of blue light aimed back at the original caster.

The wizard cast, "Protego!" to create a solid shield to block the redirected energy.

For one of the rare times in his existence, the ever-present congeniality left Ukitake's face, replaced by a smoldering rage. Brown eyes, normally so soft and warm, turned to dark stone.

"You must be Alastor Moody, the second wizard involved in abducting young 'Shiro," Ukitake said.

"And if I was?"

"Then I would ask, can we end this without bloodshed?"

Moody answered with a shouted, "Bombarda!" which Ukitake easily repelled with a casual, _"Seki."_

A soft white shield the size of a dessert plate appeared behind Ukitake's right hand. A flick of his wrist knocked the powerful blasting curse off-course, to explode against the wards high above their heads.

The wizard's one real eye bulged. Moody gaped at the reaper in a combination of anger and disbelief.

"Bloody 'ell, how'd you swat my curse away like that?"

"I will ask one last time. Can we end this peacefully?"

Moody wagged a thumb over his shoulder, toward the fights already in progress. The false eye rotated in its socket.

"Think we're long past that, don't you?"

Brown eyes narrowed. The captain's jaw clenched even as his knuckles whitened around Sogyo no Kotowari's hilts.

()()()()

With a sharp grunt, Ichigo Kurosaki batted away a curse cast by the Gandalf-wannabe. A reiatsu-powered leap carried the substitute shinigami twenty feet up in the air, where he had more room to maneuver. Airwalking gave him a clearer view of the wizard perched atop the high steps that led to the main doors. It also freed him from having to fight off any of the castle's enchanted ground-based forms. The other reapers, including Rangiku, divided their attention between destroying the statues and keeping the area around Ichigo clear of airborne defenses.

_High ground's mine now, old man!_

Mindful to keep his attacks to a level that fit their cover story, Ichigo gauged the amount of energy he put into, _"Getsuga tensho!"_

A red-and-black crescent of pure spiritual pressure formed in the air before his slashing blade. The energy arc impacted against the Headmaster's shield. The resultant _clang_ made Ichigo's ears ring but the shield held firm.

"The dark power I sensed before. It came from you," Dumbledore said, his voice deliberately raised to be heard by the other witches and wizards. "Raw, dark, demonic power. I can feel it in you and see it in the red aura around your blade. I cannot and will not let you enter a school filled with children!"

"There's nothing dark about my power, old man. It's magic, same as yours, just channeled through my sword instead of a wand," Ichigo said. "You wanna talk about 'dark'? Let's talk about what you've done to our friends. Torture, _days_ of it, all for information that can't help you in the slightest."

"You're strong, I admit," Dumbledore countered, "strong enough for a wandless levitation of some kind. Your older companions can cast various spells without a wand, but you are quite obviously still a student, limited to a single method of attack. This confirms my theory. You and your people possess a power that can be transmitted or trained to others. We desperately need that power to overcome the Dark Lord. But ... as strong as you are, your 'magic,' if it can be called magic at all, cannot get through our shields. They're powered by an untold number of headmasters and Hogwarts staff for over one thousand years."

Kurosaki laughed and taunted, "That tap wasn't a tenth of my strength. I haven't even started to get serious yet! _Getsuga tensho!_"

A hastily transfigured wall caught the brunt of the more powerful blast. The golden shield dispersed the rest and deflected the shrapnel created by the destroyed wall. A brief cloud of powdered stone and dust fogged the air.

Dumbledore responded with two wordless fire spells, immediately followed by a slashing hex and a _petrificus totalis_. Ichigo shunpoed away from the fire jet, split the fireball in half, leaned out of the way of the slashing hex, and reflected the final spell back to its castor with the flat of his sword.

()()()()

In his two centuries or so of existence, the Head of the Kuchiki Clan had never felt so disgusted. When he'd battled Ichigo Kurosaki, he did so despite the conflict between two equally powerful vows. In the beginning, yes, the upstart substitute shinigami was beneath his notice. For having led Rukia Kuchiki, Byakuya's adoptive sister, into a situation that threatened her life, the shinigami officer felt no compunction against taking Kurosaki's life in return. Yet, every time he fell, Kurosaki would rise again, even stronger than before. By the time they dueled atop Sokyoku Hill, bankai against bankai, Kuchiki felt increasing respect for Kurosaki. Over time, he reluctantly admitted (to no one but himself) that in this uncouth, untrained, unrestrained boy was a rough diamond waiting to be exposed.

Today, on the grounds of a magical school, Byakuya Kuchiki found it uncomfortably hard not to show his revulsion. Something about Severus Snape made the shinigami captain feel as though he'd fallen into a tub of rancid animal fat.

Kuchiki stared at the greasy-haired, hawk-nosed wizard with a lack of emotion that was an insult in itself. "You are one of those who would kidnap and torture someone for the sake of knowledge alone. How pathetic."

"You have no right to judge us or our methods," Snape snarled back. "You don't know the evil we're facing."

"Perhaps not. Whatever your reasons, one basic truth remains. Some actions are taboo, no matter how desperate the circumstances. Whatever their rationale, they cause more harm than good, and always center around a desire for knowledge, greed, power, physical satisfaction, or political gain."

"You think we're petty, then, to want to save our world from a monster?" Snape bit back at his foe, his face twisted with loathing for the foreign aristocrat.

Byakuya countered with an argument against which Snape had no defense. "What good is defeating one monster when you become monsters yourselves?"

Snape glared at his nemesis and sneered, "I won't defend my actions to you or to anyone else."

"Very well. I must admit, had you declined to fight, I would find myself unnaturally disappointed. Toshiro Hitsugaya may not be a particularly close friend of mine, but he possesses pride and honor, both of which you have trampled in your thirst for power." The nobleman's eyes narrowed to flakes of black obsidian. "Yoruichi Shihoin is another matter entirely."

Snape watched his opponent casually raise his hand and gesture with an index finger. He couldn't hold back a disdainful sniff. "You plan to kill me with a point of your finger?"

"Possibly," Byakuya replied. "Hado #4: _Byakurai_."

A thin bolt of lightning-like kido shot from the tip of the pointed finger. The electrical stream slithered across the shield's surface like a snake, seeking a weakness in the protection. The air stank of burnt ozone, scorched grass and earth. Inside the shield, Snape squinted against the brilliance and shielded his eyes.

With an underhand twist of his wand, Snape cast, "Impedimenta!"

The spell pushed Kuchiki back and disrupted the hado. It left behind a vague feeling of restriction around his arms and legs that quickly vanished.

With an insulting languidness, Byakuya cast a double-hado combination, "_Tenran_, _sho_."

Tornadic winds created by the _tenran_ swirled around the potions master. Their rotation lifted Snape and his protective bubble completely off the ground. The second hado, _sho_, shoved the bubble away. Snape, his eyes wide with shock, tumbled across the ground like a hamster in a plastic ball.

"Is this the best you can do, wizard?"

Snape righted himself, thrust out his wand, and cried, "Sectumsempra!"

A simple flash-step carried the shinigami clear of the powerful cutting curse, though a tiny portion of its outer edge nicked Byakuya's forehead near the hairline. Reappearing as though from thin air directly behind Snape, Kuchiki brought Senbonzakura's blade down on the golden shield. Sparks flew from the contact but the shield remained intact.

By the time Snape regained a battle posture and shouted another curse, Kuchiki had shunpoed away once more.

By some uncanny sixth sense, Snape knew where Byakuya would reappear. Wand ready, he cast a hasty, "Levicorpus!"

For one of the few times in his life, Byakuya Kuchiki could honestly say he was surprised and allowed his face to show that emotion. Wide-eyed with shock, he dangled upside down, as though an invisible rope bound his ankles high over his head. A moment passed before he could comprehend himself in this humiliating position―silk scarf held off the ground only by his chin and jaw, haori flapping in the wind, and shihakusho in total disarray. The position displayed his bare legs all the way to the thighs. Long black hair swept the dirt.

The wizard had the gall to laugh at his indignity, which in the end would be a not-so-good thing for the wizard. The head of the Kuchiki Clan prided himself on a cool demeanor under pressure, but this affront to his pride was more than sufficient cause for retaliation.

A reiatsu pulse fueled by embarrassment and anger ripped apart the spell. Freed, Kuchiki shot high up in the air. From his elevated position, he held his zanpakuto blade-up before his face, and spoke in deadly earnest, "Scatter, Senbonzakura."

The katana blade broke apart into an uncountable number of metal petals. The pink cloud swirled in the air a moment before descending like a plague on the unsuspecting potions master.

Inside his bubble, Severus Snape watched the unfamiliar swirl of what appeared to be innocent flower petals strike the outside surface of his protection. Sparks flared as the attack scraped away at the magical barrier. Three tiny petals made it inside before Hogwarts' magic repaired the worst of the damage. The instant the petals touched his skin, they dug deep into his flesh like the sharpest cutting hex. Blood fountained from a vicious slash across his left forearm.

A "Waddiwasi!" aimed at each petal forced them back outside of the dome which Snape reinforced with a "protego!"

A hastily cast "Epiksey" healed the lesser wounds while a "Ferula" wrapped his slashed arm in a white bandage. The emergency treatment, Kuchiki reckoned, did nothing to replace the lost blood.

Byakuya narrowed Senbonzakura's focus onto a palm-sized spot on the previously weakened section of shield. A precision strike might succeed where a general assault failed.

Purple flames exploded from the wizard's wand and struck the petal fog. For a brief moment, the metal sakura petals retreated, a hole punched through their midst. A flash-step carried Byakuya out of harm's way, but not before the purple fire charred a corner of his haori.

The fight carried the two closer to a small, depressed glade close to the Hogwarts protective boundary. Snape bombarded the reaper with a barrage of spells which Kuchiki quickly realized were meant to herd him in the direction of the dense trees. Curious to see what the wizard intended, he flash-stepped into the direct center of the grove.

Snape cried in vindictive triumph, "Confringo!"

The entire grove combusted, incinerating everything touched by the spell's almost fiendfyre-like flames.

()()()()

"I won't be lettin' you get to Dumbledore, an' tha's a promise!"

Armand Rousseau turned his attention away from a kido-bound clutch of some two dozen animated figures and stared far up into the face of what was surely a man with giant ancestry. Against someone this size, Rousseau's short, slender form was especially dwarfed. Even his spirit sword's released form―a diamond-tipped trident atop a titanium spear shaft―seemed puny against the larger man's massive club. The part-giant's moleskin vest reeked of sweat, musk, and other quite pungent (not to mention repugnant) things. Most bizarre of all, a tatty, old pink umbrella hung next to a large pouch attached to the big man's leather belt.

A golden shield protected the large man to the tips of his fingers. His wooden club, its handle rubbed smooth by decades of use, hovered in the big man's two-hand grip. The majority of its ten-foot length lay outside of the magical barrier.

"Ahhhh, _mon ami_. I see zat you 'ave giants in uuur family tree. Ooo must be Hagreeed."

"That's me. Rubeus Hagrid. I heard what you all was sayin' earlier. It's a lie! Dumbledore's a great man, he is. He wouldn' do what you're sayin'."

"'ur faith in 'im is blind," Rousseau said. "Can you not theeenk for yourself?"

"I don't need ta think. I know!"

"Ahhh. I suppose only time weel tell in deees mattehr."

Rousseau flash-stepped from beneath Hagrid's descending club. The cudgel slammed into the ground hard enough to bury its entire head. The big man yanked it free and tried again. Despite his unnatural grace and speed for someone his size, Hagrid could not strike a single blow against the kido master. Rousseau never once struck back, using only bakudo shields and the occasional slide of the club down the shaft of his trident spear to redirect a blow.

"I respect uhr size an' strength, _Monsieur_ Giant. Were I not a mastehr of defensive mageeks, I would be at your mercy. For you, I weel give you my strongest mageek. Do not worry. It ees for containment only. It weel not 'urt you."

The captain of Avalon's Kido-based Battle Team and Patrol Group rested his spirit sword's released form against his shoulder and raised his arms out to his sides. He brought his hands together, fingers intricately intertwined.

"Defenseev #99: Seal. Restrict."

Black spirit fabric wrapped around Hagrid's protective dome in unbreakable folds. Additional ribbons yanked on both the cudgel and the shield, throwing the half-giant off his feet.

Hagrid grunted and struggled but could not free his weapon. With a hastily spoken command, the half-giant cancelled the dome and tried to fight clear of the restrictions using physical strength alone. Instead, the bindings adapted to his changed form. They pulled the club from his grasp, forced his arms to his sides, and locked his legs together. The cloth mummified Hagrid from shoulders to ankles and pinned him to the earth. Iron shafts slammed down, staking the fabric (with Hagrid cocooned inside his shield) to the ground.

The half-giant bellowed in rage and fought all the harder. Cries of "Hagrid!" and "What's he doing to Hagrid?" came from nearby witches and wizards. Rousseau glanced their way, expecting some kind of rescue attempt. Some had moved to do so, but their own reaper opponents redirected their efforts back to their own survival.

The Avalon captain waited, hoping the half-giant would accept his bindings. Instead, Hagrid only strained harder.

Armand Rousseau knelt next to Hagrid's head. "You weel 'urt yourself eeef you continue to struggle. Better if you sleep away zee fight, _oui_?"

With a wordless healing kido, Rousseau sent Hagrid into a sleep filled with pleasant dreams.

()()()()

_Damn it! If word of this ever gets back home, I'll NEVER live it down!_

Renji Abarai flash-stepped and dodged another plant attack. _A PLANT ATTACK, for Kami's sake! Who would've ever thought that a plant could be used as a weapon?_

The Squad 6 Lieutenant came at this fight all wrong and was still trying to get back on top. The division of forces set him against the frumpy little woman and the even smaller man who'd been with Dumbledore on the school steps. He'd made the understandable but erroneous assumption that they'd go down easy, golden shields or not. For the first few seconds, he'd even felt sorry enough for them to pull his blows (and did Zabimaru have something to say about _that!_). He'd treated the whole thing like a joke until a fire spell slammed against his feet and left him frantically batting at the smoldering hems of his hakama.

Twenty seconds (and two hot feet) into the fight, he recalled the pre-mission briefing by the witch girl, Luna. The frumpy woman with the flyaway hair and brown robes was probably the Herbology instructor, 'something' Sprout (_I will not make fun of her name!_). The short man with slicked-down black hair and a thick mustache would be the Charms teacher, Flitwick. According to Luna, they were both experienced magic-users. The little guy, in particular, was famous as a dueling master in his youth.

Renji had a hard fight on his hands. Yes, he had height and raw power on his side. A direct hit by Zabimaru's serrated whip sent them rolling across the ground every time. Flitwick was especially vulnerable to that, tumbling a good thirty yards on more than one occasion. The tiny man could count himself as lucky when a deflected strike by the zanpakuto pulverized a nearby boulder. Zabimaru, both in sword and whip forms, blocked most of the spells. The serrated edges raised a dense shower of sparks but could not break through the golden protection.

_If I put full power into a single down-strike, I could crack that shield like an egg. At the very least, I could bury the damn thing ten feet deep! But that might hurt the human inside. My bankai would ... but again, using that much power to bust the shields would kill the humans._

_If I fought only one enemy, I could separate Zabimaru into segments for _Higa Zekko_. That would break through the wizard's shield, and with enough control, I could break his wand AND stop the fragments from cutting the little guy too badly. But if I did that here, I'd leave myself wide open to the witch. I could rely on flash-step to keep out of her way, but since it would take too long to reform Zabimaru, that plan isn't worth the risk. Besides, it's a one-shot, last ditch kind of deal. No good in this situation._

_There has to be a way to end this without me losing or them being injured. Maybe reasoning with them would buy me some time to think of a plan._

"Look, I don't want to fight you!" Renji yelled over the sounds of active battles. Between shouted spells, kido incantations, and zanpakuto effects, the noise was deafening. "Just give us our friends and we'll leave!"

The witch's voice held a clear note of uncertainty and reluctance. "Filius..."

"I know, Pomona," the wizard Filius answered. "I don't like this, either, but it's not our decision to make. Whatever's going on, whatever Albus has or hasn't done, we have to fight." He looked back at the tall, black-clad man with a shock of blood-red hair tied up in a ponytail, looking positively fearsome with all his wild tattoos and gigantic, serrated sword. "We can't risk these strangers getting close to our students."

The witch firmed her resolve and nodded. "Agreed."

Flitwick flicked his wand and incanted, "Incendio!"

Zabimaru, in _shikai_ form, deflected the spell. The fireball angled over and down. It shattered the glass roof of a building filled with greenery. Red and yellow flames shot skyward. In less than five seconds, the entire structure was a raging inferno. Smoke puddled like a mushroom cloud at the top of the defensive wards high above the castle.

The plump witch stared at the destruction a long moment then screeched, "My greenhouse!"

"Oh dear." Filius Flitwick cringed. "You really ought not to have done that."

_"Oi!"_ Renji objected, "it was your spell, not mine. I just knocked it away."

_"_My mandrakes! My honking daffodils! My snargaluff saplings!_ MY GREENHOUSE!"_

"As I said. Oh dear."

The witch gave an inarticulate yell and waved her wand in a complicated pattern.

A fan of inch-thick, thorny vines wrapped around Renji's ankles and pulled him toward the ground. A second cluster tried to latch onto his arms and restrain his movements. Zabimaru's whip-form coiled around and sliced through both threats, incidentally blocking two curses sent his way by Flitwick. Bleeding from deep scratches and stab wounds left by the retreating thorns, Abarai bounced an additional ten feet higher in case the witch tried the same trick again.

The two sections of his zanpakuto's spirit were not happy with him.

Renji winced at the rancor in Snaketail's thoughts. _We gave you our bankai, and yet now you only want to use us to cut these weeds? You lazy good for nothing! Let us fight the way we want to!_

_If I did that, you'd end up hurting or killing the humans,_ the shinigami countered. _These aren't hollows or Arrancar. They're living beings._

_At this moment,_ Baboon said, _they are the enemy. Do not forget that._

Renji dodged a barrage of spells even as he cut through the stem of an enormous Venus flytrap-like plant with poison-tipped spines along its clamshell edges. The offensive foliage lunged upwards, snapping at his heels.

_How can I forget it with things like THAT coming at me from every direction?_

Before the severed plants struck the ground, Sprout banished a dozen glass globes filled with yellow-green liquid towards where Renji hovered. Zabimaru blocked all but one. The final bulb shattered against Abarai's left wrist.

"Ow. _Shikusho!_" Vicious boils erupted on Renji's hand and forearm. He slung off the yellowish-green substance that smelled strongly of petrol, but the angry yellow boils only widened. "What is this shit?"

"Bubotuber pus," Professor Sprout replied with a certain level of vindictiveness. "An effective weapon, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Renji agreed even as Zabimaru caught the next bulb barrage and tossed it right back. "Let me return the favor!"

Only her Hogwarts shield kept Sprout from catching the caustic pus-bombs square on the face. While slime slid down the golden dome, partially blocking her view, the witch pointed her wand at a raised flower bed located some 20 feet beneath where Renji airwalked.

"Engorgio!"

The harmless little flowering plants increased over 500 times their previous size. The five-petal, veined, purple blossoms grew from coin-sized to the width of his torso.

"Geraniums? You're attacking me with ... geraniums?"

"Fanged geraniums, actually."

A thicket of oversized magical flowers enveloped Renji. Curved black spikes appeared in the green center where the purple petals met the stem. A dozen painful puncture wounds marred the shinigami's legs, hip and side before Abarai plowed the plants out of the ground and tossed them away, well clear of any other wizard/reaper duels.

Four short flash-steps saved him from a multi-spell barrage from the wizard.

Snaketail hissed in fury as the whip retracted once more to the zanpakuto's _shikai_ form. _We are not a shovel! Either let us fight or run away like a spineless dog!_

"Filius, he has a weakness!"

"I see it!" the little man squeaked. "He's limited to three consecutive attacks before his weapon must reform. And he's not using spells like the others. His magic control must be weak, or he may have no spell-casting ability at all!"

_Damn it. They're good._

_I hate to admit this, but I think I'm becoming too dependent on my bankai to deal with everything. A single _Hikotsu Taiho_ would fry every bit of greenery that witch could conjure up. Let's see her attack me with a flower THEN!_

_Damn you, Ichigo, for tying my hands like this!_

_Okay,_ he thought to his zanpakuto. _Here's the plan. Despite what Captain Kuchiki and the others think, I'm not THAT bad with kido. It's just not my strongest skill, that's all._

The mental scoff from the zanpakuto's snake tail needed no translation. Even the baboon segment of the weapon's spirit offered a cynical snicker.

_Stop that and listen to me. I'll do a Red Fire Cannon on the witch. While she's tumbling, You'll powerdrive the wizard into the ground. Try to crack his shield from above but remember not to hurt him too badly. If everything goes well, I can bind him with a restrictive seal. We'll do the same for the witch. _

_That's not too bad,_ Snaketail offered grudging approval, only to ruin it by adding, _At least you won't be using us to prune bushes anymore!_

Renji held a palm towards the witch and said, "Hado #33: _Shakkaho!_"

The red beam, though nowhere near as powerful as the ones formed by Captain Kuchiki and other kido experts, was strong enough for its purpose. Just as with Kurosaki's attack on Dumbledore, the contact resulted in a deafening _clang_ of reiatsu-meets-magic.

Pomona Sprout's protective bubble bounced across the ground. The plump woman tumbled rump over tea kettle, blinded by her own robes and frantically trying not to show the world what she wore beneath them. She traveled a solid fifty feet before being stopped by the framework of stakes and trellises that guided growth in the school's outdoor vegetable patch.

"Roar, Zabimaru!"

The serrated, segmented whip expanded to maximum length, raced skyward, arced, and sped groundward once again. Flitwick reinforced his Hogwarts shield with one of his own an instant before the zanpakuto slammed into it. Zabimaru rose up and down too fast for the human eye to see. The reiatsu-powered jackhammer drove the wizard deep into the ground.

Flitwick's shield held against the assault for several seconds, until jagged cracks formed. Hair-thin lines spiderwebbed across the shield's golden surface. First small then increasingly wide, the fractures spread with the sound of cracking crystal. Though limited to 20 percent, Renji Abarai's full reiatsu added to the pressure until the shield shattered like a flawed stone beneath a gem cutter's chisel.

When the shield collapsed, Zabimaru's forward momentum carried it into the ground, close enough to knock Flitwick off-balance but not near enough to injure him. Before the Charms master could regain his footing, Renji cast, "Bakudo #1: _Sai!_"

Filius Flitwick's wand dropped to the disturbed earth. Arms locked together behind his back, the little wizard cried in alarm and fell onto his side in the cup-shaped cavity left by the destroyed shield. Renji returned to earth long enough to gather up the wizard's wand.

_No need to leave this lying around,_ he reasoned. _Bound or not, the little guy's too good a fighter to give him even half-a-chance of breaking his restraints._

With Flitwick's wand safely tucked into his obi, Renji returned to former airwalking height just in time for Pomona Sprout's return.

With her companion incapacitated, Professor Sprout cast a desperate spell combination. "Avis!" As the flock of birds―black ravens―formed, she added, "Oppugno!"

Like something out of a cautionary tale about never angering nature, three dozen large ravens swarmed Abarai as he airwalked twenty feet above the ground. Zabimaru's toothed blade wiped out half their numbers. Renji flash-stepped away from the rest.

Sprout repeated the spell combination twice more, adding an additional 72 ravens to her airborne attack force. Even as Abarai dealt with that irritation, additional spells and more attacking plants demanded his attention.

Distracted by the multiple assaults, the shinigami barely heard the witch snap out, "Sonmulus Maximus!"

Renji's mind automatically translated it as "maximum sleep" an instant before the lavender beam struck him square on his backside.

()()()()

**A/N:** I made an oops in the last chapter. I stated that Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku were the only known dual-weapon zanpakutos. I forgot about Shuhei Hisagi. I imagine that, while rare, there are others scattered throughout the Seven Heavens. Still, it's a minor point and won't affect the story, so please forgive the error.

Also, before you go complaining about how easily the reapers are being beaten, wait to read the next chapter before you decide, 'kay?


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**A/N: Okay, in the past, I said the Great Hogwarts Battle Sequence would occur in Chapters 22 and 23. These guys don't know when to quit, so it looks like the conflicts will bleed over into Chapter 24 as well. Otherwise, Ch. 22 would be over 12,000 words long! I hope no one is disappointed. :) Once again, maximum credit to CressidaRene-All Hail the Super-Beta! (I mean that, seriously...)**

**Oh, yeah. At nearly 6,500 words, this is by far the longest chapter to date! Enjoy!**

Harry Potter wanted to pace in front of the large fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, but there simply was no room for it.

The Headmaster's order to secure all students in their dormitories sounded while most were still asleep. Staff members quickly herded the half-dozen active ones back to their quarters and locked them in. By the time everyone was awake and hastily dressed, Dumbledore had closed all ways into and out of the four Houses, including the window shutters. Less than five minutes after the lockdown, a feeling of released energy and a heaviness in the air marked activation of the school's active boundary wards.

No repeat of the current password or any plea, demand, or threat would make the Fat Lady move, nor would the shutters open despite every spell known to the students, including the seventh years. Locked in with no way of knowing what was happening, the students, particularly the younger ones, were understandably terrified. Most of the first through third years huddled together in trembling clumps for comfort. The majority of fourth and fifth years were less obvious about their need for reassurance yet stayed close to one another.

Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville were the fifth year class exceptions. They, along with most of the sixth and seventh years, wanted to know what was happening and how they could help. Long minutes passed without sensation or sound, as though Hogwarts itself held its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Unfortunately for Harry's desire to pace, every Gryffindor wanted to wait in the common room. Bodies filled every spare bit of floor and piece of furniture, including backs and arms. Anyone trying to walk across the human carpet must wiggle their feet beneath knees and bums, often to the irritation of those on the floor. Some of the older girls sat on their boyfriend's laps. A few teens perched on top of tables or jammed together on the window seats and hearthstone. Two sixth-year boys dared to sit on the fireplace mantle. Those who descended from their dorms towards the end of the exodus were relegated to the stairs.

The air buzzed with nervous speculation about what caused the morning's disruption. The lack of concrete information left them with nothing but pure conjecture. Predictably, the most common suggestion was an attack by Voldemort and/or his Death Eaters. Also expected, the mere mention of the Dark Lord's name ratcheted the anxiety level thrice over.

Hermione knelt in front of four crying first-years. She stroked one girl's cheek, tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear, and said, "Don't be afraid. You're safe here in the dorms. Even if anyone did get past the teachers and find a way in―which I must say is highly unlikely―there are plenty of sixth and seventh years who will protect you."

The smaller of the two boys sniffled and hiccupped, his voice a quivering whimper. "But ... the Prophet said ... Harry Potter said―"

"Yes, Voldemort has returned." Hermione ignored the way three-quarters of the room's occupants cringed at the dreaded name. "That's a proven fact as of one week ago tomorrow. Even so, it's far too early for him to have organized any sort of attack, especially one large enough to require a complete lockdown of the castle. His followers are scattered, his resources scarce. He hasn't had time to form a firm alliance with any groups like the giants or werewolves or with dark wizards from other countries."

Dennis Creevey turned away from his own small comfort group and asked, "Then if it's not ... him ... or his Death Eaters then ... who is it?"

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. "I don't know."

A dull _whump_ sounded from somewhere outside. A brief flash of light passed through the minute cracks around the shutters. Seconds later, every standing student hunched forward, some driven to their knees by a terrible weight. Those who were already sitting slumped in place. The boys on the mantle yelped and fell on top of those who sat on the hearthstone. The equivalent of hundred-pound anvils pressed down on every body. Young voices cried out in fear.

Angelina Johnson fought to stay upright by grabbing the edge of the mantle. "What―what's happening? Where's this pressure coming from?"

An invisible ripple of energy surged through Gryffindor Tower, powerful enough to electrify every bit of skin. Teenagers who stood near the portrait hole yelled and pushed their way deeper into the room. The unexpected movement, added to the debilitating pressure, drove a dozen students to the floor and clogged the space near the exit.

As suddenly as it started, the debilitating weight was lifted from everyone, and people gasped for breath, looking around, as if hoping to see the source of their trouble.

Metal joints shrieked. Steel scraped against steel. Weapons struck empty breastplates with hollow _clanks_. Two sets of metal armor shivered to life and stepped off their ancient pedestals.

The Fat Lady opened wide enough to permit their departure. Harry struggled against the tide, desperate to reach the exit before it closed. He arrived a fraction of a second too late, narrowly avoiding crushed fingers as he tried to hold it open.

Harry slammed both fists against the barrier and roared his frustration.

Hermione and Ron stared at the empty plinths. Both granite squares showed a distinct color variation between the armor's footprints and the remaining stone, a clear indication of how long the metal shells had stood unmoving.

"Oh no," Hermione gasped. Every trace of color fled from her face. She wobbled on her feet, saved from a fall by Ron's hasty support. "God, please, no."

"What?" Ron asked as he held her close. "'mione, _what?_"

Her voice quivered as she replied, "They've activated the doomsday protections."

Harry blinked. "The what?"

"In the event of a full-scale attack, like in a war, the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmistress can summon every suit of armor, every statue and decorative figure to protect the castle. It's meant to be a defense of last resort, for when all else fails. According to _Hogwarts: A History_, it's only been used once in the entire one thousand year history of the school."

()()()()

"Ahh, young lady." Shunsui Kyoraku tipped his sakkat toward Minerva McGonagall. Despite their physical appearances, he was technically many, many centuries older than the deputy headmistress, so she unquestionably qualified for the term 'young lady.' "Surely we can settle this in a more agreeable fashion. Say, over a drink? From what I understand, Scotland boasts quite a reputation for strong spirits."

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes and glared daggers. The transfiguration professor's fighting stance was not perfect―too much weight on her misaligned back foot, wand arm held high and far too stiff―but he couldn't deny her fiery determination. Her golden shield and raging Scots temper made up for her lack of formal battle experience.

The wizard, on the other hand, clearly knew how to handle himself.

_He has no golden shield,_ Kyoraku observed his second opponent, _so he isn't employed by the school. Perfect stance with one side only facing his opponent, presenting a minimal physical aspect. Wand arm held low and loose, which allows for a flexible and rapid response. His posture is alert, one might even call it predatory. His body is heavily scarred and prematurely aged. His clothes are worn, yet the wood of his wand is oiled and polished. This would be the werewolf, Remus Lupin._

"Don't think because I'm not as young as you," McGonagall said, "you can make light of me."

"I would never do that, dear lady." Kyoraku bowed again, deeper, his twin scimitars held out to either side of his body. "I have nothing but respect for you. It's obvious neither of you know what your Headmaster has done. I really am reluctant to cross swords ... or wands ... with anyone other than the guilty party. I do hope for a peaceful solution. Don't you?"

McGonagall stared at him, her expression perplexed. "I don't understand any of this. You speak to me as though I'm a child, yet you're clearly decades younger. There's your cavalier attitude and scruffy appearance, the way you wear your clothing all loose, with goodness gracious! Half of your chest is showing! Your long, curly hair would be the envy of every primping, preening teenage girl within a hundred miles of here, and your bows are closer to curtseys than they are to a manly bob. You're wearing a robe with _pink flowers_, for Merlin's sake! You don't look or feel like a dark wizard."

The witch pointed to the lady's floral kimono that fluttered loosely around his shoulders. Her eyes flickered to the bare triangle of muscular chest, lightly covered in curly black hair. A hint of rose colored her cheeks.

The shinigami grinned, amused and impressed. _She might lack fighting experience, but her mind is as sharp as my research suggested._

"Perhaps that's because I'm not. A dark wizard, I mean. I'm much closer to being a white wizard than I am a black one," he said. "What Ukitake said earlier is true. We're here to rescue our friends. Once we've done that, we'll leave."

"Whether or not that's so, it's no matter," she replied. "I am pledged to protect this school and its children. I'll use every ounce of magic, every drop of blood, to fulfill that duty."

"Ahhh, cruel lady, you wound me. I'm stabbed straight through the heart," he teased, a wispy smile on his lips. Grey eyes danced with mischief as he pressed the knuckles of his sword-filled hand over his heart. "Why would I want to hurt your children?"

His expression lost all hint of merriment. "We're here because your Headmaster holds two of our brethren. One of them is younger than the majority of your students." _A small lie, unless one goes by appearances._ "Please try to see it from our side. A child of ours has been hurt by the two wizards you're defending." _Kami, please never let Toshiro-kun find out I called him a 'child.' I'll be lucky if frostbite is the worst I get._ "You can't expect us to walk away without him, can you? Would you abandon someone who is special to you, who is loved and cherished, if you were in our place?"

"Don't listen to him, Minerva," the wizard said. "He's lying. He wants you to doubt Dumbledore."

"I want both of you to accept the truth, nothing more, nothing less," Kyoraku said.

A flush of shame flashed across McGonagall's face. Her shoulders slumped and her hands shook. Her wand twitched and wobbled. Doubt bled away a large portion of her will to fight.

"Remus, you didn't hear what was said earlier, on the top steps in front of the doors. Albus all but admitted to ... if they're telling us true, Albus and Severus have harmed a child." Her eyes met the reaper's. "Perhaps we should think this through. Find out what's really happening before we resort to violence."

"Maybe this will help you to decide how best to act," Shunsui said. "You must know that our advance scout had help passing undetected through the school's wards, that we―" he waved his right-hand sword to indicate the reaper party as a whole, "―had help. A young witch named Luna Lovegood witnessed first-hand what's been done to our friends. At this moment, she's waiting outside the boundary shield, along with the centaur Firenze. Poor child's understandably distraught." Recalling details from his video conference with Byakuya Kuchiki, he added, "The ghosts inside the castle did what they could to help, though they're conflicted between protecting both the school and the headmaster."

"Luna!" McGonagall gasped. Her Scots temper flared. "You're holding a student and a professor hostage against our surrender?"

Kyoraku pouted, genuinely offended. "Did I say that? Did I say anything about them being held against their will?"

"But..."

"They came to us because it was the right thing to do. What's been done beneath the dungeons of this castle is wrong. They did what they could to correct the situation. Once _that_―" he pointed to the overhead dome, "―comes down, they're free to return."

The wizard, though obviously conflicted, said, "After all he's done for me, I owe Professor Dumbledore the benefit of the doubt. I did some shady things as a schoolboy, things that should have landed me in Azkaban. Some should have led me to my death. My adult life hasn't been a righteous one, either. I'm not in any position to judge why the Headmaster's done what's he's done. He's never steered me wrong before. If he's guilty of kidnapping, I have to believe there's a good reason."

"And if his reason is bad?" Shunsui countered.

"Until it's proved to me, I'm going to stand by him."

"_Yada yada._" The shinigami captain huffed and bobbed his head in regret_._ "I had hoped to end this peacefully. Won't you reconsider?" Lupin answered with a resolved face and settled stance. "Or not. Ah well. You can change your mind at any time. I'll leave the opening shot to you."

()()()()

"Bakudo #9: _Horin!_"

An orange-hued tendril with spiraling yellow patterns erupted from Rangiku Matsumoto's right hand. The "rope" bound thirteen lifeless guardians in a packed circle. A combination of kido, physical and zanpakuto-effect attacks from her companions made quick work of the clutch, reducing them to lumps of charcoal or rocks no larger than a fist. From her point of view, at least, their destruction made little difference in the numbers of defenders.

Restricted from direct physical confrontation by her still tender wound, Rangiku assumed a supportive position. Using creative combinations of hado and bakudo, she gathered the automatons into a central area, where Captain Rousseau and other Avalonian fighters could deal with them. The strategy, while slow and prone to interruption by enemy forces beyond their current targets, seemed to be working. Using a mixture attack forms, they'd accounted for roughly half of the spell-powered defenses with minimal casualties on their side.

One point in their favor: the flow of new inanimate defenders had slowed to a trickle. By her estimate, approximately 250 non-living combatants remained.

Part of Rangiku's attention remained fixed on Ichigo Kurosaki's fight with Dumbledore. The few times anything approached him from the air, she would lasso it and pull it away.

Off to one side, Aina Sigursdottur and two lieutenants had their hands full dealing with seven magic-users, two of which possessed the Hogwarts shield. Three witches and two wizards lay unconscious under a blanket of hail, sleet and frost, compliments of Captain Sigursdottur's zanpakuto. Rangiku hadn't seen enough of the tall female captain's spirit sword in action to compare it to Hyorinmaru, but the blasts of arctic chill coming from that area were eerily similar.

The wholesale destruction of so many stone figures created a gritty haze as far as she could see. It irritated the eyes, clogged the nose and throat, and stifled breathing. Smoke from burned wood thickened the material fog. Crystal and metal shards formed hazards beneath their feet that must be avoided. Under normal circumstances, they would shift to a location free of obstacles, but the need to protect the captains, healers, and Kurosaki held them in place.

Captain Rousseau had neutralized the half-giant and once again stood beside Matsumoto. Rangiku was grateful for the kido master's return. Dealing with the unliving army using the skills and powers of only five lieutenants placed a heavy strain on their abilities.

By this point in the fighting, all four knights had fallen, though none of their injuries appeared to be life-threatening. Hanataro Yamada had moved them to the healing area, where he and Captain DuLay applied field dressings and healing kido. Captain Ukitake stood guard over both healers and the wounded even as he exchanged volleys with one of the wizards responsible for kidnapping Hitsugaya-_taicho_. The other captains, as well as Ichigo Kurosaki and Renji Abarai, were fully involved in their own battles. This left Captain Rousseau, Matsumoto, and four lieutenants to deal with the onslaught.

A cry for help came from Rangiku's right. A mob besieged a black-haired Avalonian lieutenant from all sides. Though the female officer's spirit sword blurred and slashed, sheer force of numbers would soon overcome her defense. 

_Horin_ would not work in this situation. Instead, Matsumoto cast, "Bakudo #21: _Sekienton!_"

A cloud of hot-pink smoke enveloped the pack. The beleaguered lieutenant flash-stepped clear of the trap, waved her thanks, and returned to the fight.

A blow to her back knocked Rangiku Matsumoto to the ground. A hasty tuck-and-roll carried her clear as a steel boot stomped where her head should have been.

Kneeling on one knee, she ignored the twinges from her shoulder and cried, "Growl, Haineko!"

The straight katana blade disintegrated into fine ash. Guided by Rangiku, the ash scoured the ground around her, picking up additional particles. The combined cloud descended on the suit of armor. Grit clogged its neck, elbow, hip, and knee joints, restricting its movement.

Rangiku carried her attack at step further. "_Neko Rinbu!_"

The zanpakuto's _shikai_ formed an enveloping cloud around the armor. Swirling ever faster, the ash tornado lifted the steel form off the ground. The panoply rose higher and higher until its helmet touched the boundary layer.

Haineko released its burden. With a high-pitched whistle of air through its hollow interior, the armor surrendered to the laws of gravity. It struck the ground hard, buried three feet deep in the disturbed soil. The impact warped it into an unrecognizable mass, incapable of reforming into anything remotely threatening.

The dry ash reformed on the cats-head hilt in Matsumoto's hand.

Rangiku allowed herself a split second smile of triumph―_Tender shoulder or not, I can still fight for my captain!_―before turning her attention back to the remaining defensive forms.

()()()()

A magic-spawned tornado caught Ichigo Kurosaki from behind. The orange-haired teen tumbled through the air, head over heels, flipping and sliding along with no control over either balance or direction. Only a steel control over his spiritual pressure kept him aloft.

The instant he regained his footing, debris from demolished stone and metal objects melted into new and deadlier forms, including but not limited to boar spears, steel-tipped arrows, iron cannonballs, and bee-sized projectiles similar in speed and threat as human bullets. Conjured trebuchets flung rocks the size of cars. Boulders rained from the sky ahead of acid rain and poison fumes. The barrage was relentless.

_Damn it! This old fart's a tough nut to crack,_ Ichigo groused inside his own head. _No wonder he's the so-called 'Leader of the Light.' He's powerful, that's for sure. But not powerful enough._

Kurosaki responded with shunpo speed, Zangetsu little more than a ghostly afterimage. The few times that the poison gas came anywhere near him, Ichigo twirled Zangetsu by the white cloth ribbon attached to his pommel. The Zangetsu-fan blew the noxious vapor straight back towards Dumbledore.

"If I can take out Senbonzakura," Ichigo scoffed, "I sure as hell can deal with everything you throw at me, old man."

Dumbledore answered Kurosaki's ridicule with a chill promise of worse to come. "We'll see about that, boy."

()()()()

_I really should take this more seriously,_ Shunsui Kyoraku chided himself. _The sad truth is, my heart's not in it. I just want to retrieve Shiro-kun and go home._

A pitted landscape created by minor bolts of kido aimed at the ground beneath and around the transfiguration professor seriously hampered her movements. The disturbed earth made balance difficult. Her shield would roll into a depression and stay there until McGonagall deliberately moved to a new location. This left her vulnerable to attacks that never came. The reaper kept her off-balance and unsettled but at no time threatened to shatter her Hogwarts bubble.

Despite the professor's magic-powered protection, which made her the more plausible threat, Kyoraku paid more attention to the wizard. Remus Lupin's professional stance and greater repertoire of spells, as well as his werewolf-enhanced speed and agility, demanded it. Narrow gusts of kido-created wind, like hard pokes by a large stick, repeatedly knocked the wizard off his feet. Shunsui varied the direction and intensity of the winds. Lupin never knew where to shield or when to dodge.

A simple flash-step carried the shinigami around to Lupin's rear. To Minerva McGonagall, he appeared for less than a second before vanishing again, only to reform at his original position. The werewolf never knew he was there. Lupin remained upright for a long moment before slowly sliding to the ground, unconscious.

Shunsui stored the wizard's wand beneath his frost-green obi.

McGonagall cast some kind of spell, but Kyoraku couldn't hear the incantation over the melee noise. This one had no beam to swat away, but he was curious about what might happen. He stood there―a reckless thing to do, surely, but the Squad 8 captain was famous more for solving puzzles than for his caution―and let the enchantment connect.

_An odd sensation, one I've never felt before. It's like my body wants to be something else. Which makes sense, seeing that she teaches transformation. I wouldn't think it works very well on a shinigami. The reishi from which our bodies are formed can't be shaped as easily as physical flesh can. It's different in the spirit realm where everything is created using reishi particles, but here, in the World of the Living, unless one is using a gigai, our spirit bodies are far too solid to be reshaped by a human._

"It didn't work?" Minerva McGonagall stared at him in dismay.

Shunsui asked, "Might I ask what you meant to happen?"

"You should have turned into a flobberworm, something easy to catch and cage!"

The shinigami captain made a disgusted face. "A flobberworm? I don't know what that is, Minerva-san, but the name alone makes it sound rather unpleasant. I'm glad I didn't turn into one."

The captain of Gotei 13's Squad 8 glanced around to see how the other reapers fared in their fights. Captain Sigursdottur, Lieutenant Matsumoto, and the Avalon reapers struggled to contain the onslaught of both living and animated defenders. Kuchiki and Snape were locked in a serious duel, while Daniel Gilbreathe resisted the need to fight the two red-heads. Ukitake and Moody fought with equal vigor, neither one willing to surrender, even as the wounded knights occupied the healers' full attention.

Central to everything, Ichigo Kurosaki battled Albus Dumbledore with increasing violence. How long before the substitute shinigami's legendary temper exploded?

Captain Kyoraku tilted his reed hat further back on his curly head and sighed. "_Yada yada._ It seems that my companions are having a bit of trouble."

McGonagall scowled and said, "You're done playing with me, then."

"Yes. It's been fun. I mean that honestly, by the way. But it's time to get on with what we came here to do."

The transfiguration teacher stared first at Remus Lupin's body sprawled on the ground then at Katen Kyokotsu's twin Chinese scimitars. She gave a visible shudder.

"What do you intend?"

"I rarely, as they say in the West, like to 'toot my own horn,' but this one time I will admit, with the slightest hint of conceit, that I am one of the strongest members of this rescue party." _Seal or no seal,_ he thought,_ I have nearly 2000 years of experience at focusing my reiatsu in the World of the Living._ "As such, I have no need for violence. With just a little push, like this―"

He flash-stepped across the distance between them, his palm less than an inch from the edge of her shield. A brush of kido and a swirling motion created a hole wide enough for his hand to slip through. Calloused fingertips stroked her forehead.

"―and a gentle_ Inemuri_―" Shunsui pulled his arm clear before the shield repaired itself. McGonagall collapsed, forced into a deep sleep. "―and thus it ends, with no blood spilled on either side."

()()()()

With Zabimaru's help, Renji Abarai shook off a hard wave of drowsiness. His first thought was, _I can't believe it. That sneaky witch hit me on the ass with a sleep spell!_

Disgruntled and embarrassed, Renji whipped around and glowered at Professor Sprout. For her part, the witch could only stare in shock. She admitted to being far from the strongest of witches. Her knowledge lay in the sculpting and taming of magical and mundane flora. The closest she usually came to jinxes, curses or hexes was when she scolded students in the school's corridors. Even so, her most powerful sleep spell elicited nothing more than a momentary slump and a sleepy yawn.

By his very nature, Snaketail could not let the incident slide without comment. _You deserved it. Idiot! Turning your back on an enemy. Maybe you need another year or two in the Academy so they can train the stupidity out of you!_

_Shut up and get these birds off me!_

The elongated zanpakuto blurred through the air, forming an oval barrier around the shinigami. By ones, twos and tens, the avian attackers disappeared in a poof of feathers. Being conjured creatures, they returned to nothingness once the spirit sword ripped through the magic that formed them.

With Filius Flitwick disarmed and bound, Pomona Sprout fired spells as fast as she could, as well as conjurations and engorgements of attack plants. Fresh flocks of birds replaced the ones destroyed by Zabimaru. Ravens, crows, hawks and owls descended on him in continuous waves, even as plants with teeth, fangs, thorns, or constrictive coils assaulted him from below. What she lacked in overall magical power, the witch tried to make up for in quantity.

Zabimaru blurred with motion, even as Abarai flash-stepped to avoid being overwhelmed. Slowly but surely, he took down the creations faster than Professor Sprout could generate them.

"Okay, that's it," he yelled to the witch. "I was taking it easy on you, since I know you're not part of what happened to Toshiro Hitsugaya. But enough is enough already!"

A swirl of blue-white light appeared above Renji's head. A relentless suction pulled at his clothes and body, forcing him to make a frantic grab to save his headband. The blue-white rotation pulled in every airborne creature. Before it dissipated, the whirlwind shredded the avian squadrons to their original molecular forms.

_That looks like Captain Kyoraku's Bushogoma!_

_It is,_ Baboon confirmed.

Sure enough, the captain of Squad 8 smiled up at him, eyes bright beneath the brim of his sakkat. Quite noticeable in his pink kimono, Shunsui Kyoraku stood with his body still twisted from his "spinning top" maneuver. An unconscious witch encased in a gold sphere and a senseless wizard bound in kido restraints lay at his feet. There wasn't so much as a single smudge or scratch to indicate he'd been in combat.

"With all due respect, Kyoraku-_taicho_," Renji growled, "I was doing just fine!"

"Certainly, Renji-_kun_," the flamboyant captain crooned, not at all offended by the junior shinigami's ire. Amused eyes took in the young lieutenant, with his shihakusho torn in several places and numerous small bleeding wounds, and added, "No doubt you'd have dealt with the situation in your usual splendid fashion. However, instead of bemoaning my aid, shouldn't you be more interested in helping the others? As you can see, they're rather hard-pressed at the moment. Why don't you take care of this quickly? We can move our prisoners to a makeshift holding area then help Lieutenant Matsumoto. Good idea, yes?"

Recalling Kyoraku's "spinning top" attack gave Abarai an idea. Deciding on the best strategy for taking out the witch without seriously hurting her, he wrapped Zabimaru around her golden shield in ever-increasing circles. Within seconds, he'd encased Professor Sprout within its coils, her view blocked and spell-casting ability nullified.

That took care of the unending bird and plant attacks, but Renji could not hold her there indefinitely. He gave a reiatsu-powered twitch to Zabimaru's hilt. The wave carried along the whip-sword's length; the wrapped "ball" bounced. He moved left, right, up, down, twirled, and shifted. Each move translated into a corresponding action along Zabimaru's entire length. The round end bobbed like a cork on a rough ocean swell. A faint scream from inside the overlapping coils confirmed the witch's distress.

Voicing an inarticulate yell, Abarai yanked hard on Zabimaru's hilt. The extended weapon acted like the pull-string on a child's toy top. Centrifugal force pressed Professor Sprout hard against the wall of her wildly spinning shield, trapped in a depression in the earth. The violent motion proved too much. The Herbology instructor fainted long before the wild spinning came to a gradual stop.

"Ahhh, a creative yet compassionate solution. Well done, Renji-_kun_," Captain Kyoraku congratulated him. "Let's gather your pair and move along. Where Captain Rousseau has bound the half-giant would make an excellent place for a temporary holding area."

()()()()

A stray bolt deflected from one of the other battles shot through the medical area, narrowly missing Hanataro Yamada who was intent on healing an Avalon knight. The young healer gave a short scream, but the flow of kido from his hands into the injured woman's side never flickered.

_Enough!_ Jushiro Ukitake fumed._ I can't fully protect the healers and fight this wizard. Time to end this. A high-level hado, certainly, but which ... yes, I know just the one. Powerful __and__ poetic._

Jushiro Ukitake stabbed his right-hand blade into the ground, raised a stiffened palm toward Alastor Moody, and said, _"Hyoga Seiran!"_

A wave of ice spread ahead of him in a jagged-edged cone shape. Moody countered with a fire-spell. The leading edge of the ice melted ahead of the sustained jet of flames, only to be frozen again by the flow of sub-zero cold coming from behind. The ex-auror cast a frantic shield but could not avoid the frozen pulse. The wizard, the air, and the ground around him as far as ten feet in every direction became a razor-sharp block of polar ice.

Captain Ukitake pulled his weapon from the ground and studied the results of his assault. He stared at the obscured image of the man trapped within the ice and could not resist saying, "Though I would rather have reached a peaceful conclusion, I call this poetic justice for what you did to Toshiro Hitsugaya."

Looking up, the white-haired captain saw Kurosaki tumble through the air, clinging to Zangetsu's hilt with both hands. Before Ukitake could do more than take note of that fact, a powerful spell passed the far side of Moody's ice prison, headed directly for the healers.

()()()()

The appearance of a giant ice cube at his back pulled Ichigo's attention away from the immediate battle. Taking advantage of the boy's distraction, Albus Dumbledore cast, "Expelliarmus!"

The disarmament spell, powered by Dumbledore's impressive will, sent the red-haired teen tumbling ass-over-tea kettle. Magic tried to yank Zangetsu out of his hands. Ichigo ground his teeth and held tight to the hilt. No way in hell would he let the bearded old bastard take his zanpakuto.

Before Ichigo could stop his spin, a flash cut the air. He braced for impact, expecting to be hit, only to feel nothing. Captain Ukitake cried out even as Captain DuLay gasped in alarm. The elfin captain of Avalon's healers raised Lunalyn against the hex thrown her way by the old man.

The master healer's spirit sword successfully deflected the powerful curse. The redirected bolt slammed into a boulder transfigured by Dumbledore and fired by one of the conjured trebuchets. The object exploded into hundreds of dangerous projectiles. Shrapnel dispersed faster than the eye could follow. Some of the pieces struck both healers before Anissina could call upon Lunalyn's Release. Both DuLay and Yamada fell to the ground with matching grunts of pain.

Captain Ukitake knelt beside the Avalon captain. Kido light surrounded his hands and poured into the wound along her left hip.

Ichigo stared down at Yamada's inert body. The teenage healer sprawled like a discarded doll upon the ground. Blood covered the left side of his face.

_Hanataro. "Nooo!"_

The weight of Ichigo Kurosaki's unleashed reiatsu forced every still-conscious Hogwarts defender, including Dumbledore, to their knees, gasping for breath. Matsumoto and the Avalon lieutenants hunched under the pressure, while the injured knights endured as best they could. Having experienced the debilitating effects of rampaging spiritual pressure, the lesser officers knew to inhale using shallow pants rather than attempt to suck in great lungfuls of air. Every captain, to varying degrees, acknowledged a power equal to their own.

The air itself rumbled with chaotic energy.

"That was a cheap shot, old man. A _coward's_ move! They're healers, not fighters. Hanataro's a caring kid who risks his own life to help others. He didn't deserve that! I won't let you hurt anyone else! You're going DOWN!"

Beyond enraged, Kurosaki lifted Zangetsu, blade held like a pointer aimed directly at Dumbledore's heart. His left hand rose to brace his right elbow.

"_BAN―"_

Ukitake's frantic, "Kurosaki, no!" barely pierced the teenager's rage. Unbound white hair snapped in the spiritual gale that scoured the nearby area. The older shinigami struggled to his feet against Ichigo's raging spiritual pressure. He added in Japanese, so that the English wizards would not understand, "This is a school! Remember, you have captain-level reiatsu but no power seal. A bankai-powered _getsuga tensho_ would wreck the entire castle. You would injure or kill hundreds of children!"

Kurosaki struggled to rein in his spiritual pressure. His arms trembled with a desire to avenge the young healer who had helped him rescue Rukia in the early days of Ichigo's shinigami transformation. His inner hollow whispered to ignore the peace-loving fools, to hack, slash and destroy anyone in his way. His eyes washed back and forth, like turbulent waves hitting a rocky shore―first normal brown iris on a layer of white, to a demonic yellow atop a slithering bed of black, and back again. White fragments of an embryonic hollow mask hovered over his face.

With a furious _"Shikusho!"_ Ichigo smothered the last of his anger and regained control over his inner hollow. His eyes resumed their normal color even as the shapeless bits of hollowfication crumbled and vanished.

Dumbledore stared, eyes wide with the first clear stirrings of fear.

()()()()

Inside the Gryffindor common room, the students sat in uneasy silence. Every ear strained to catch the slightest sound. Other than the fact that their teachers fought a vicious battle on the grounds of the school, they couldn't learn much from the booms, thumps, whumps, and crashes. Lights of varying intensities and colors flashed through the shutter cracks. Because the air pressure rose and fell with no warning, student sat on the floor or stairs―standing took entirely too much effort.

The tower shuddered under distant impacts. The earth itself quaked beneath the ancient foundations.

With so many bodies crammed into too small a space, the air soon became hot and fetid. Tension made everyone sweat, which added the rising stink of unwashed bodies to an already unpleasant atmosphere.

With nothing to do but wait, The Gryffindor Golden Trio leaned against the back side of the Fat Lady's portrait, their legs pulled up close to their chests.

"I heard what you said to those kids," Harry whispered to Hermione during a momentary lowering of noise from outside. "You do realize that he's had since the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament to gather his followers and make alliances. That's an entire year. Plenty of time to make whatever plans he wanted."

"Yes, Harry, I realize that," she answered, her return whisper sharp with rebuke. "But they don't need to hear it. I'm trying to limit the panic. The least you can do is help me."

"I know what you're trying to do," Harry said. "I just ... I'm not good at that kind of thing. At waiting, I mean. If the situation is bad enough that Dumbledore activates the wards, including the doomsday defenses, I want ... I need ... I _have_ to get out there!"

An expression crossed Hermione's face, as though she braced for something unpleasant. "Harry ... I know ... in the past, we sometimes haven't seen eye-to-eye on how to react to things. But ... I mean ... please don't run off into another unplanned, hair-brained adventure. We don't know what could happen. Last week―"

Harry paled and cringed even as Ron hissed at her to be quiet. "You call me an insensitive git for saying things without thinking, but even I wouldn't deliberately remind him of ... what happened. You're not helping anything."

"No, Ron," Harry rasped, his head hung between his knees. "She's right. If I'd listened to her last week ... if I'd taken a few minutes to look at the situation logically ... to form any kind of a plan ... Sirius might still be alive."

Ron squeezed Harry's shoulder and said, "Mate, it wasn't your―"

A collective gasp sucked air out of the common room. Without so much as a single whimper, the younger students slumped over, pale and unconscious. Those who remained aware fared little better. The mysterious pressure increased a hundred-fold and drove everyone to the floor. Breathing became extremely difficult, made worse by fear of the unknown and a feeling of suffocation. Joints ached, even as flesh pressed hard against their bones.

_God, what is this?_ Harry's tattered thoughts raced. _It's almost ... alive. I can feel something ... like ... I can't describe it, even in my own head, but it's ... almost ... familiar. Somehow. Yet not. Damn it, I'm not making any sense! My head's buzzing. I'm doing good just to breathe._

"Something's ... happening," Hermione wheezed.

Ron answered, equally breathless, "No ... _really?_"

"This ... this can't be good." The effort to rise onto one elbow took every scrap of Harry's strength. Black spots and points of white light danced before his eyes, sure signs of an impending blackout. "That's it. ... No more waiting. ... Hair-brained or not ... I'm going to find a way ... to get out there. _To fight!_"


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**A/N:** **CressidaRene's valiant PC has had an apocalyptic experience with a nasty virus. Hence, this chapter is not yet beta'd. Once her support troops (i.e. computer techs) emerge victorious against the invading horde, I may edit this chapter. If I do so, I will put add an author's note in a later chapter to let you know. There is a 50-50 chance that I will post Ch.25 sometime before New Year's. Considering how Ch.24 ends, that fast posting is fueled by a strong survival instinct. But then, Ch.25's ending might not be much better ... oh dear ... I really must stop these cliffy endings. ]:D**

**To all the fans of RotFH both old and new, a safe and enjoyable holiday season from Meer-heika and CressidaRene.**

In a locked sub-dungeon cell deep in the bowels of Hogwarts, Yoruichi Shihoin pushed against the runed collar with her hind legs. The odds of her slipping out of the magical restraint were almost nil, but what other choice did she have? The band moved only so far before it subjected her to intense nerve stimulation. Every effort to thrust through the pain failed. Her skull, even in cat form, was too large to slip through the ring.

_Damn it. That Dumbledore bastard forced me into cat form. He says he's locked me in it and won't release unless I tell him everything he wants to know. I might not believe a word either he or Snape says, but do I dare risk changing back to human, only to find that the band won't grow with me?_

The former head of the Shihoin clan, one of the Four Noble Houses of Soul Society, gave up trying to escape the too-tight collar and inventoried the rest of her body. Short black fur lay flat against her body, matted and sticky along her flanks. Repeated jets of salt water left her golden eyes red and swollen. Sensitive ears hummed from prolonged high-frequency assaults, while the violent removal her left foreclaws made walking difficult.

Most vexing of all had been the flea infestation. Yoruichi had writhed across the floor and rubbed against every possible surface, including floor, furnishings and walls, desperate to dislodge even a portion of the pests. She'd scratched her skin raw, frenzied by the feel of a hundred tiny bugs _burrowing _into her skin. Clumps of short, black fur littered the room in ragged, bloody clumps. The burning itch drove her nearly insane.

The torture did have one bright spot. Conjured or not, the fleas remained true to their nature. Some of them abandoned the cat and attacked the wizards. By the third bite, Dumbledore spelled every one of them away.

_Still, compared to Captain Hitsugaya, I have nothing to complain about._

The black cat turned towards her cell mate. Toshiro Hitsugaya lay four feet away, a crumpled heap on the blood-slick floor. His breathing was harsh, shallow, and staggered, with ominous pauses between. Despite the prevailing chill of their prison, his body no longer shivered. Part of that might be his affinity for cold, but Shihoin doubted it.

The black cat limped across the distance and laid a bloody paw atop his hair, one of the few places on his body free from abuse. She could escape it nowhere in the cell, but this close, the fetid stink of violent injury overpowered her feline senses.

"Toshiro? Can you hear me?"

The white-haired captain moaned and shifted but did not wake. He murmured beneath his breath, wheezing noises that might be mistaken for speech.

"Come ... death." Yoruichi could barely make out the young shinigami's words. "Ready ... to die."

"Damn it, Hitsugaya! Don't you give up on me now!" the cat said aloud, though her companion was too traumatized to understand. "You have to keep fighting. You don't want all this to have been for nothing, do you?"

Shihoin spent the next hour repeating endless encouragements to a body that, in all likelihood, could not hear them. She sang and hummed. Her voice grew hoarse and her throat dry, but Yoruichi refused to fall silent. Ignoring her own pain, the werecat stropped his body (wherever she could do so without encountering a serious wound) and rubbed his face and hair with her forehead. A pleasant tactile sensation might reach him where sounds failed.

Driven by an unacknowledged fear, Yoruichi refused to surrender: the instant she stopped talking, his life force would slip away.

This far beneath the castle, no sound carried from outside, even to a cat's sensitive ears. Yoruichi's reaper senses, however, perceived a distant flare of reiatsu from multiple sources. To feel the noticeable thickening of air pressure this far away meant more than one captain-level shinigami. With effort, she separated out the two most recognizable―Byakuya Kuchiki's and Ichigo Kurosaki's. Several others were not familiar, but she detected Jushiro Ukitake and Shunsui Kyoraku, as well.

"Toshiro, do you feel it? They're here. Byakuya ... Ichigo ... the other shinigami are here!" The injured captain did not respond. As far as she could tell, he wasn't aware of the reiatsu-laden atmosphere. "Hold on, do you hear me? It's almost over. Hold on a little while longer."

"H ... Hyo ... rin ... maru."

"Yes. They'll have brought Hyorinmaru with them. You'll be back with him soon. Just ... hold on ... a little while longer."

()()()()

Face contorted in venomous satisfaction, Severus Snape watched the magical fire, the hottest he could create outside of true fiendfyre, consume the grove of 200-year-old scots pine trees and their tangled undergrowth. If he ever admitted responsibility, the other teachers would berate him for their destruction. He would ignore their meaningless ire, same as always.

The wizard savored the well-earned aroma of victory. He relished the cloying stench of charred wood, sterilized ash, boiled resin, and sooty smoke. He admired the embers that floated on super-heated updrafts until they faded into dead, grey motes. The results of his conflagration added to the already noxious reek that blanketed the grounds.

Quite certain that he'd destroyed his enemy, the potions master slashed his wand through the air and crowed, "I did it. Yes! I did it!"

"Did you?" A droll voice whispered. "I think not."

Severus whirled and stared, eyes wide and jaw loose. The arrogant pseudo-wizard stood less than two feet away, the barest hint of a smile on an otherwise barren expression.

Snape's eyes flew up and down. He took in every aspect of the stranger's appearance, from his long black hair and grey (almost black) eyes to his outlandish foreign clothing. A pale, sissified scarf circled his throat and rested on his shoulders. Girlish, beveled white barrettes either held his hair away from his face or directed three thin locks forward and over his forehead. At some point, the foreigner had removed the blood from his face.

The swarm of petal-shaped projectiles was gone. In its place once more was a narrow steel blade attached to a royal-blue-and-gold hilt held in a half-gloved hand.

The potions professor desperately sought any evidence of damage or injury. He found not one speck of soot or a single pine needle. The white, toed socks worn inside woven sandals remained pristine. Other than a few blood drops on his shoulder and the previously singed hem of his white outer robe, Snape saw no signs of battle.

"How ... how did you ... how could you possibly have survived?"

His enemy replied in the driest possible monotone, "Magic, of course."

Teeth bared in derision, Snape said, "You're lying. My experiments have proved that. You're like that stubborn creature locked away beneath the castle. You're nothing more than a semi-intelligent beast with the power to speak. Not a ghost, but some kind of spirit that can take solid form, or you may be a demonic parasite that can slide into an artificial body. Perhaps you're both. None of you are remotely human. Whatever power you possess cannot be called 'magic'."

"As you seem so knowledgeable about my kind, what would you call it if not magic?"

"I can't say what it _is_," Snape admitted, a gnarl in his gut, "but I can definitely say what it is _not_."

"You curse us as inhuman, yet you have neither thought nor care for the creatures who called that grove home. You killed all but one lone animal with a single spell," he waved towards something behind the potion master's back, "for no other reason than to destroy me."

Snape followed the languid gesture. Twelve feet away, a thestral filly alternately reared and pawed the ground. The skeletal black equinoid trumpeted in pain, the tip of her left wing weeping and raw, clear proof of exposure to the flames.

_This sanctimonious bastard has more snobbish airs than Lucius Malfoy! He doesn't care for any mindless beast. His holier-than-thou attitude is nothing more than an arrogant pretense!_

"Who the hell are you to lecture me on anything?" Severus demanded.

"I am Byakuya Kuchiki, head of the Kuchiki Clan, one of four noble houses in my homeland. I claim a heritage graced by generations of highborn ancestry. Can you say the same, wizard?"

"I don't care whether you're a royal ass or the offspring of a toothless hag. You'll never set one foot inside Hogwarts, 'Bee-yah-keeu-yah.' I'll see you in hell first!"

"I've been there, actually, on numerous occasions. This one time, I will leave the journey to you." Kuchiki held three fingertips close to the golden barrier. "Perhaps I can speed you on your way."

"What are you―"

_"Tsuzuri raiden."_

Bolts of yellow-white lightning as wide around as Snape's wrists slithered over and into his golden safeguard. The unfamiliar effect destroyed anything it touched, including the grass, pebbles, and soil beneath the bubble. As the shield sank inch by inch into the slowly disintegrating ground, the magic of Hogwarts struggled to regenerate his damaged defense field. The unfamiliar curse ate through the barrier faster than the castle's magic could repair it.

The wizard's feet, where they rested on the shield, burned from contact with the electrically heated dome. The soles of his boots smoldered.

_It's too powerful,_ Snape accepted with bitter reluctance_. The protection won't hold. I have to dispel the shield before the electrical charge gets through and burns me to a crisp._

Both shield and devouring curse vanished in a riot of multicolored ribbons. On the upside, dispersing the shield before the foreigner's spell fully penetrated cancelled both magics. This freed Severus from the immediate threat of electrocution. On the downside, he no longer held any protections other than those he could cast for himself.

Kuchiki whispered, _"Kongobaku."_ A massive red energy sphere shot across the distance that separated them.

Snape cast a frantic, _"Protego prima!"_

Other than to cast his strongest personal shield, Severus Snape could only brace for impact.

()()()()

"There you go." The kido flow from Jushiro Ukitake's hands faded away. "It's certainly not the finest healing ever attempted, but it should hold until Healer Yamada can use his zanpakuto's healing ability to finish the job."

Anissina DuLay smiled her gratitude and accepted his help back to her feet. Avalon's primary healer swayed due to a moment's dizziness, her already pale complexion lightening even further, before she smiled once more and recovered her equilibrium. Once more steady on her feet, the elfin healer wiped trash from her hands, straightened the long, sun-gold braids that hung down her front, and dislodged debris from her short white coat, green linen shirt and trousers.

"Thank you for your help, Captain Ukitake." Doe-brown eyes glistened. "It was most appreciated."

Captain Sigursdottur turned away from her battle with trio of stone automatons―an oversized badger, a centaur, and an abstract figure that vaguely resembled a four-legged walrus―long enough to ask, "Nissa, are you certain ... ?"

"I'm fine, Aina. The wound is closed enough that I don't fear further loss of blood," she replied, evidenced by the return of color to her face. "Now that we have other reapers to provide protection, I would welcome Captain Ukitake's help with the other knights' more serious injuries. Healer Yamada's injuries need tending, as well."

"Hnnn." The leader of Avalon's Strength-based Battle and Patrol Group looked unconvinced but turned back to the task at hand. She demolished the stone trio then flash-stepped away to help the Soul Society lieutenant with the pineapple topknot deal with another clump of animated figures.

"Ow ow owowowow." Hanataro Yamada rolled off his back and onto wobbly knees, holding his aching head. "_Itai._"

Captain DuLay's glowing hand hovered over the bloody section of the younger healer's scalp. "It's a small cut. Surface bleeding only. No sign of concussion. You'll be fine."

Pain lines vanished from the boy's face. "Thank you, DuLay-_taicho_."

"Hanataro!" Rangiku Matsumoto rushed to the first aid area. She gushed over the young healer, going so far as to crush his face into her more than ample bosom. "I'm so glad you're alright."

"Mmmmky,ltnnnt,m'm," Hanataro mumbled, his words lost in the smothering embrace. His arms pinwheeled even as every visible inch of skin steamed with embarrassment.

"Hey, Rangiku!" Ichigo called from above, his voice heavy with relief that, in turn, spawned a moment's levity. "You might want to let him breathe."

"Awwwww, Ichigooooo," Rangiku whined even as she released her 'captive.' "There's no harm in a friendly hug."

"You do realize, your hugs have a habit of cutting off the huggee's air supply?"

"Air is overrated, don't you think?"

Though his face still flamed, Hanataro remained professional enough to note an injury that required attention. "B-b-before you go back, Matsumoto-_fukutaicho_, let-let me tend that arm."

"Thanks, Hanataro, but save your skills for the seriously wounded." Matsumoto studied the bleeding gash along her left forearm, a finger-long gift from an animated swordsman. "This can wait until there are no more of these freakish things to fight."

From his place beside a wounded knight, Captain Ukitake answered with one word, softly spoken. "Lieutenant."

Defeated by a three syllables, Rangiku bowed her head and held out her arm. Ukitake offered one of his most endearing grins and left Hanataro Yamada to his work.

Again proving to have no compunction against attacking noncombatants, Albus Dumbledore distracted Kurosaki with a storm of flaming hailstones then aimed a bludgeoning hex straight at the healer's area. Ichigo demolished the hailstorm with a single arc of reiatsu energy channeled through and amplified by his zanpakuto. He pushed off the air and raced forward, intent on intercepting the attack.

Without so much as looking up, the female shinigami called out, "Growl, Haineko!"

A cloud of fine ash exploded off the hilt attached to her obi. Before the spell could connect, the ash condensed into a scoop-shape. The instant the light struck the inside of the bowl, Haineko swelled forward to complete the circle. The ball warped, crunched and compacted. The grit reformed into two ghostly hands that swiped together as if to say "that's that." Its task complete, the zanpakuto returned to its sealed form.

Ichigo cursed and stumbled to a graceless halt, his help not needed.

Not accustomed to active combat situations, Hanataro Yamada offered a shaky snicker but kept his attention on the task at hand. With trembling hands, he drew his zanpakuto, Hisagomaru, and rested its flat side against a dirt-smudged but undamaged section of Matsumoto's arm. Red smoke rose from the rapidly healing wound (as well as every other fresh bruise or cut) and flowed into the sword. A red power gauge along the blade inched up slightly.

Rangiko rubbed her fingertips across where the cut once marred her skin. Feeling not even the slightest hint of injury or scarring, she nodded thanks and said, "Excellent work, Healer Yamada, as always."

"Physical injuries are easy enough to heal, especially minor ones that this," Hanataro said as he wiped sweat and blood off his forehead. "It's the magic-based wounds that resist. Now if you will please excuse me, I'll go and heal DuLay-_taicho's_ injury."

The young healer bowed and hurried off.

Ichigo settled on the ground next to Rangiku. No sooner had his feet touched earth than a line-drive swing of Zangetsu's blade intercepted another trebuchet-cast boulder. Without so much as a glance toward the old wizard, he said with a smile of chagrin, "So much for saving a damsel in distress."

Rangiku laughed and gave the teenager a playful wink through lowered lashes.

"This 'damsel' doesn't need saving, but thanks anyway. Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to me until I get Hitsugaya-_taicho_ back safe and sound." Her response to Dumbledore wasn't anywhere near as flirtatious. For a person with a perpetually bubbly personality, Rangiku Matsumoto could display incredible loathing and contempt. "You really like taking potshots at people when their backs are turned. Is that how you've hoodwinked all these people into thinking you've hung the moon? Everything's done behind their backs so they never see what you're doing?"

()()()()

_This is ridiculous._ Daniel Gilbreathe deflected a spell with the wavy blade of his flamberge and continued to scold himself. _I'm a Captain of Avalon. I have more power in my left big toe than both of them combined. Dragging out this fight is idiotic in the extreme. Why am I so reluctant to go on the offensive?_

Teines Sionnach's chirpy voice replied inside his head, _Don't hurry on my account. I'm having fun. It's been a long time since I've played 'catch.' They're keeping my on my paws, that's for sure._

_Don't get cocky, fox-face,_ the reaper captain warned. _The instant you do, we're in trouble._

_Grrrr-yip! If you're so afraid of them,_ the fox spirit asked with a teasing lilt,_ why don't you do something more than stand there, taking what they're giving?_

Daniel replied, _I'm not battle-hardened like Aina or a master of kido like Armand. I'm a researcher, a scientist. I think. I solve things. Except for mindless Hollows and a few other, very rare circumstances, every situation can and should be resolved without violence. A fight means someone didn't try hard enough to reach a peaceful solution._

_That's where we disagree, I suppose._

The blue-flame personification of Daniel's spirit sword pounced on a ball of light. Fox jaws snapped closed on the spell, shredding it back to nothing. Voicing a delighted fox-bark, flaming tail in constant motion, Teines Sionnach sprang off to catch yet another spell.

Daniel couldn't stop an amused chuckle. _You like to argue, silly fox. You don't need a reason._

_Yip!_

The red-haired woman railed, temper in full steam, "Stop toying with us and _fight back_!"

"I don't dare," Daniel Gilbreathe replied. "I've only reached my current level of ... magical power quite recently. I'm not used to restricting the strength of my attacks. I don't want to hurt either of you so please, please, can we not fight?"

The answering volley tested the blue-flame fox's ability to absorb or deflect. The red-headed pair fought well together, understandable when Gilbreathe realized they were long-time mates. They were fast learning how to counter his defenses, attacking with different spells from opposite directions. Defense became harder with every passing minute.

A half-hearted "Barrage" aimed a flurry of reiatsu spikes at the ground in front of the wizard and witch. The threat drove them back long enough to give Daniel a moment's respite.

"_Mon ami_." Gilbreathe turned to see Captain Rousseau slightly behind and to his right. The elder captain's trident spear rested casually against his shoulder. "You cannot allow yourself ze luxury of delay. You must eizehr fight to win or step aside for someone else."

"I know. It's just ... they're innocent. They don't know everything that's happened or who has done what. They're fighting to protect their children. How can I fault them ... how can I punish them for that?"

"I understand your thoughts, Daniel, but look around. Except for _Capitan_ Kuchiki and zee boy, the ozzers have fineeshed weeth all zee living defenders."

"Are we in some kind of a race?" Helpless frustration increased the rancor in Gilbreathe's response. Distracted by his conflicted thoughts, the Gilbreathe swatted away a red beam more from instinct than from conscious attention to the fight at hand. "A contest to see who can defeat their enemies first? Bonus points for an extra-hard smackdown?"

"Do not put words into my mouth zat are not zehr," Rousseau replied. "I say only zat zee battle draws to a close. We must end zees quickly, recover those whom we seek, and leave before ozzer wizards arrive." Indecision clouded the young captain's face. The French reaper closed his eyes and nodded. "Very well. Since you cannot act, I weel."

Armand Rousseau flash-stepped first to the man then to the woman and employed the same sleep incantation used by Shunsui Kyoraku. The kido master gently lowered both unconscious red-heads on the ground, placing them close beside one another. Their wands vanished up the sleeve of his tunic.

The fox manifestation offered a mental hum filled with love and pressed tight against his master's right side, offering what comfort he could.

Daniel Gilbreathe patted the top of the spirit's head, studied the wavy blade of his flamberge and whispered, "I'm not much of a captain, am I, Armand?"

"You are steeel young, _mon ami._ Your rise from knight to lieutenant to _capitan_ is zee fastest in zee history of Avalon." Rousseau squeezed Gilbreathe's shoulder. "You did thees on your own merits, my friend. You earned your rank. You have much to learn about being a Captain, _oui_. Zat includes when battle ... when war ... eez unavoidable. Do not be discouraged. All who hold zee rank have gone through zees same learning. It weel come with time."

Daniel stared down at the unconscious couple and sighed. "I suppose."

()()()()

Two voices in unison cried out, _"Protego maxima!"_

Two more shields formed on top of the potions master's. Byakuya's _Kongobaku_ struck a fraction of a second later. The first protection crumbled in less than two heartbeats, but it slowed the ball of red energy. The middle shield held an additional five seconds before collapsing. The third, Snape's own _protego prima_, survived long enough for the assault to dissipate.

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks rushed forward to flank Snape, one on either side. Were it not against his very nature, Severus would have hugged his rescuers. As it was, he growled, "Took you long enough, Shacklebolt."

The tall, bald, black man with a hoop earring and a fierce expression replied, "We were occupied."

"Wotcher, Snape!" The short, slender girl, her pink hair streaked with purple and green highlights, bounced on the balls of her feet. She slapped the potions master on the back, uncaring of the offended glare he sent her way. "Buck up. We're here now, so let's take him down and go help Professor Dumbledore."

"I see you have reinforcements," Kuchiki commented. "It matters little in the scheme of things. Whether I face one, three or ten, I will win."

"You talk big, Mister Tall, Dark and ... Rather Handsome―" the girl flushed and hurriedly corrected herself, "―I mean ... Stone-Faced ... but against a dueling master and two aurors, you don't stand a snowball's chance."

()()()()

"Damn it! There _has_ to be a way to get through this old fart's defenses without bringing down the castle!"

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore could understand the boy's frustration. The Leader of the Light looked ragged and tired, and felt even worse. He'd endured sustained combat with a powerful enemy. The boy's ability to weigh down the air sapped a large portion of his strength. The physical assaults, though unable to pierce his Hogwarts shield, threw Dumbledore around within its confines.

One particularly hard blow had knocked the old wizard against the school's main doors. The back of his head still ached from the impact.

Around and behind him, the grand façade of the school bore the marks of battle. Long gouges caused by the boy's energy attacks marred the stonework as high up as three stories. Creeping ivy burned. Huge chunks of stone had been blasted from the railings, steps and landings. One of the two main Hogwarts doors lay somewhere in the front entry hall, blasted to wooden splinters and metal shards by the boy's powerful attacks.

The grounds themselves, once lush, green and peaceful, more closely resembled an exploded minefield like the ones he'd seen while fighting against Grindelwald during the mid-1940's. Mounds of disturbed earth made it difficult to walk in any direction. Patches of spilled blood were rare and seemed evenly divided between wizard and intruder. Noisome air shared atmosphere with a heavy particulate haze, unable to disperse due to the activated dome. Burned, frozen, cracked, smashed, slashed, pulverized, or transfigured detritus lay as far as the eye could see. Alastor Moody's ice prison served as a perfect centerpiece to the tableau.

The strangers' bizarre powers overwhelmed the magic-users. As few as 75 automated figures remained out of nearly 600. Severus Snape, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks fought one enemy. As Albus watched, Arthur and Molly Weasley fell. The male with the long white hair had encased Alastor Moody in a block of solid ice that refused to melt despite Albus' strongest efforts. Faculty and Order members alike were bound and secured. Injuries disabled five of the enemy―lower-powered subordinates, if he guessed correctly. Three others sported wounds but were still active.

Except for the orange-haired teenager and the one fighting Severus, the rest protected the first aid area, guarded their prisoners, or dealt with the last unliving defenders.

One of the younger invaders, the one with the tattoos and strange red hair, said to his companion, "You're a wimp, you know that? If he's giving you that much trouble, ask for help."

"Stay out of this, Renji. There must be a way to end this, and damn it to hell, I will find it!" To Dumbledore himself, the youth said, "That last cheap shot was it, old man. No more."

In answer, Albus replied, "I do what I must to protect my school and my people."

More than one invader snorted in disbelief, the buxom woman strongest of all. "I'm sure someone, somewhere, believes that. We certainly don't."

_I have to end this soon or I'll lose everything. I never would have believed it, but I stand a very real chance of falling to a beardless boy with a sword that casts a single spell. If even one of the others joins in, my defeat is certain. I won't let that happen!_

"Look around, old man." The boy with the spiky orange hair waved towards a transparent box made of pale blue light. The structure encased every captured witch and wizard. Inside its confines, all other forms of restraint had been removed, which provided a clue to the "stockade's" strength. "The last of these freakish statues will be dust inside five minutes. As soon as Byakuya finishes playing with your friends over there, the only one still standing ... will be you."

()()()()

A silver phoenix patronus flowed over to Severus Snape. He alone heard its ethereal message.

_"Severus. We can't win this battle. We don't know enough about their fighting abilities to counter them effectively. Bring the prisoners to the front steps. We'll use them as hostages to force these people to surrender."_

As the patronus dissipated, Snape whispered close to Shacklebolt's ear. "Albus needs me. If you can't defeat him, at least keep him occupied."

The big auror nodded. Shacklebolt cast a specific hand signal combination to Tonks, who bobbed an acknowledgment. In unison, the aurors bombarded their opponent with every possible hex, curse, jinx and charm. The foreigner wove between the attacks, blocked, deflected, or simply leaned out of the way. Even so, the mishmash of lights, sounds, smells, and movement momentarily blinded him.

Shielded from view, Severus Snape cast his strongest invisibility charm, the same one he'd used while stalking the homunculus back in London. By the time Byakuya Kuchiki could see through the magical salvo, Severus Snape had vanished from sight.

()()()()

Something flashed red high in the sky. Albus Dumbledore looked up as Fawkes spiraled down from the Headmaster's Tower.

"Fawkes! We need to buy time, just a few minutes! Do what you can to distract the boy!"

The phoenix circled around the old wizard's head and warbled a short note. Put together with a firm shake of the magical avian's plumed head, the sound clearly said, no. The phoenix landed atop one of the larger boulders, wings tucked against his side.

Dumbledore stared in disbelief. "You're my familiar. I command you. Attack!"

Fawkes flared his wings, lifted his head, and sang.

For the first time in his life, Albus Dumbledore experienced the full force of his familiar's power. Every note, every trill and descant, slashed his soul. Pure light laid bare every weakness, every selfish desire, every cruel memory, every black fantasy, no matter how deeply he'd buried it inside his subconscious mind. Dumbledore screamed and writhed but could not escape.

Across the battlefield, the melody roused everyone who had been stunned or sent into unconsciousness, protector and invader alike. Every Hogwarts defender shrank from the pure refrain. Strength flowed away like water through a sieve. A sense of foreboding descended, along with an overwhelming urge to weep in shame.

Conversely, every reaper felt rejuvenated to a near-miraculous degree. Tired muscles relaxed, spirits lifted, and hope renewed. Reiatsu flared in solidarity, thickening the air with a promise of strength.

"Fawkes! How dare you disobey me!" the Headmaster cried, too infuriated to recognize the significance of the phoenix's song or to notice the reactions of his subordinates. He was too angry to hear, let alone comprehend, the light creature's final, desperate plea for restraint. "Traitor!"

Fawkes sang his grief at the loss of his bonded human's unsullied spirit. Phoenix tears fell like pearlescent dew, shimmering against his scarlet and gold plumage.

()()()()

A furious "_Glacialis draconis_" aimed at the portrait of Relinda the Recluse allowed passage to the sub-dungeon cells. Guided by a "lumos" light on the tip of his wand, Severus Snape stormed down the narrow conduit, incensed beyond the point of sanity. Heavy breathing and limping footfalls rebounded off the walls in cadence with his throbbing temper.

_How can it have gone so damnably pear-shaped in such a short amount of time? One hour ago, the Headmaster and I held the power. We controlled everything. We had two possible sources of information and ... we thought ... sufficient time to plan for any contingency._

_Now ... damn each and every one of them to hell, that arrogant Kuchiki bastard most of all! They won't win. Dumbledore ... *I* ... won't let them! If I have to kill the prisoners and eradicate every trace of their presence, so be it!_

As the door to the lower level swung open, Snape banked the fires of his rage and seriously considered his options.

_Albus wants them brought to the surface to use as hostages. That move could backfire, especially if any Hogwarts staff or Order members see what's happening. Unless they're all unconscious, this is bound to be the case. It would mean careful obliviation of everyone except Albus, Moody, and me. We could do it, without question. It would require more than simply erasing their memories, the way Albus did with the Potter brat last Sunday. We must create new ones to explain the damage and injuries without revealing the truth. The trick would be to make the memory both seamless and believable, yet compatible with everyone else's artificial memory. Should anyone compare notes, a single discrepancy could ruin everything._

_The more I think about it, there's only one logical choice. The smart move would be to wipe away all trace of the prisoners and claim innocence. It would be their word against ours. Even if they dared protest to the Ministry, the Wizengamot would take Dumbledore's side against an unknown, foreign agency with no influence in the magical world. The resulting fallout might be unpleasant, particularly amongst our opponents in the ICW, but the Headmaster and I can handle whatever damage control is needed._

_My main concern is how this morning's debacle will affect our war against the Dark Lord. Whatever we do, we cannot give him any more power than he has already taken for himself._

A sharp "Nox" deactivated the lumos. With a jerky, wordless wave of his wand, the cell door opened. The potions master stepped through the portal.

Back arched, ears flat, and head down, the black werecat stood in a protective stance between him and the unconscious "boy." Threat rose from her in waves and might have been somewhat intimidating except for one thing: favoring her left foreleg spoiled the image.

"Oh, please," the wizard groaned, "surely you don't think you can scare me away. I am not impressed. Professor McGonagall in cat form presents a greater threat. You can't even stand on all fours."

"I don't need to scare you," Yoruichi Shihoin replied. "I just need to hold out for a few minutes."

Curious despite himself, Severus asked, "Really? Then what will happen?"

"Our friends will come."

Professor Snape barked a vindictive laugh.

"If by some miracle they reach the upper dungeons," the professor scoffed, "they can't open the passage. Even if they did manage it, I would obliterate all signs that you were ever here long before they accessed this level." His deep, silky voice dripped venom. "Let them whine to the Ministry all they like. No one could prove a thing."

"That won't stop them." Yoruichi held her place between the wizard and the helpless shinigami. "Judging by your injuries and damaged clothing, you've met at least one of them. Do you think they're afraid of your Ministry?"

"No, and that is the only reason you're still alive," Snape replied, his expression hard and cruel. "Were this a wizarding attack force, I would not hesitate to vanish every cell of your body, scourgify the room and recreate its original, dust-filled state." Snape sneered even more. "However, this is not a wizarding force. Thanks to your obstinancy, and that of the brat lying behind you, they are an unknown entity."

"You're here for a reason. What is it?"

"Albus wants me to bring you to the front steps to use as hostages."

The cat tilted her head to the side. "You sound like you're against the idea."

"I am. The work required to tamper with the memories of every witness far outweighs any advantage."

"So...what do you plan to do?"

"What I must."

The cat shifted her weight onto all four paws, even though it had to hurt due to the violent removal of her left foreclaws. Hind legs tensed and braced, ears flat and eyes narrowed, the werecat crouched low to the floor, a warning rumbled low in her throat.

"I'll be damned if I'll just sit here and let you kill us."

The potions master scoffed. "What can a cat do to stop me?"

"This."

With a defiant yowl and all remaining claws extended, the cat powered off the floor and leapt straight for the wizard's face. Severus Snape raised his wand.

()()()()

_Okay, direct attacks aren't working,_ Ichigo strategized, _and I can't put much more power into my getsuga tensho without going bankai. Since he's the headmaster of the school, his shield's probably the strongest one. I might can feed all of my reiatsu through Zangetsu, kinda like an attack of last resort, and let go with my strongest blast._

_If I aim it right, there shouldn't be too much risk. I can't imagine the kids being anywhere near close enough to be hit. They're either in the towers or locked in some safe room in the middle of the castle, but that's just a guess. Since I don't know for sure, I can't take the chance._

Kurosaki surveyed the extensive damage already inflicted on the structure. Scores, holes and pits scarred the ancient stone, part of the door was missing, and a good 60 percent of the stairs, railing and landings were destroyed. Evidence of deflected spells added to the destruction. The ground between the castle and the entry gates was even worse. If it weren't for Ichigo's ability to walk on air using pressurized reiatsu, the sheer amount of debris on the ground would have destroyed any ability to perform precision footwork. With his luck, he'd break an ankle for sure.

_Having the high ground helps me evade his attacks, but it doesn't add any advantage to my own. Hacking at the shield is less than useless. Damn it, Ichigo, think! No defense is perfect. There's always a flaw in it somewhere, even if it's tiny. There has to be some clue, some sign of weakness. What is it? What am I missing?_

An air cartwheel carried him clear of a nasty lime-green pulse.

"Ask for help already, you moron!"

Ichigo glowered but didn't take his eyes off his opponent. "Shut the hell up and let me think."

"You? _Think_? Since when?"

"Renji, enough already! I'm fighting here!"

_I hate to admit it, but he's right. I could ask for help. That would be the grown-up thing to do. But I'm still kinda new at this substitute soul reaper business. Byakuya Kuchiki already thinks I'm weak. Some of the others do, too. If I back down from one old man, they'll rag me for the next fifty years._

_I have the power to break through, I *know* I do. I just have to figure a way to focus ... yes, that might work. I got nothing to lose, so I might as well go for it._

The substitute soul reaper powered forward, Zangetsu's hilt tucked tight against his side, and slammed into Dumbledore's shield with the point of his zanpakuto. The impact shoved the protective bubble against the wall and pinned the wizard in place.

Ichigo fed a steady stream of reiatsu into the sword. Instead of a widespread, uncontrolled release along the entire cutting edge, he narrowed the focus to the tip itself―a "laser" as opposed to his typical "flame thrower." Concentrated power poured off the nib like water from a high-pressure hose. A wall of Ichigo's unique red-and-black spiritual pressure warped the air in a ragged circle and obscured everyone's view of Albus Dumbledore.

They might not be able to see him, but they could hear him.

"Diffindo!"

Ichigo braced, expecting to take a direct hit. The power wall took the spell. Nothing got through.

"Petrificus totalis! Confundo!"

Spell after spell struck the roiling obstruction. Not one managed to penetrate.

A flash thinning of the wall gave Kurosaki a moment's view of his enemy. The wizard held his wand flush against the barrier, over the exact same spot as Zangetsu's point, and cast, "Expulso!"

The sword vibrated. The reiatsu backlash bulged. Dumbledore put every bit of his power into the spell, but Zangetsu did not explode. Ichigo roared and pushed more power through his weapon. Fine cracks appeared in a snowflake pattern where blade touched barrier.

_"Cave inimicum!"_ Dumbledore cast in desperation, hoping to reinforce the inside of the golden shield.

Ichigo strained against the added resistance. Another crack formed then another and another. A smattering of fractures ate away at Dumbledore's final protection.

With the increased pressure, it became hard to breathe. Behind Kurosaki, Avalon and Soul Society reapers backed away until only Jushiro Ukitake, Anissina DuLay, and Hanataro Yamada were within twenty feet of him.

A silver bat made from smoke flowed through Dumbledore's shield.

()()()()

"Ow! Bloody hell!" the young witch with the pink, spiked hair yelped and jumped half out of her skin, one hand on her backside. **"**Shack, did you see? That thestral bit me on the arse!"

"Pay attention to what you're doing," her companion commanded, "or teeth marks on our bum will be the least of your worries. This man will take you out the instant you give him an opening."

"It seems that we understand one another," Byakuya Kuchiki said.

The young witch tried to obey, but the adolescent thestral darted close once again, looking to take another bite. The female auror swatted the filly's nose and hissed, "Go away, shoo! Bloody hell, I thought thestrals were sweet as bunnies. This one's acting like she's been starvin' for a week and my arse is a prime steak. If I didn't know better, I'd think she's trying to help this guy!"

Byakuya watched the woman dart around, her attention only half on the battle in front of her. Though in all honesty, if something wanted to bite his hindquarters, he would be equally distracted. Swift application of Senbonzakura's blade, either sealed or _shikai_, would take care of the irritant in short order, but he could still empathize. To a minute degree. _Very_ minute.

The witch tried to chase the equinoid away. She tripped over a patch of overturned ground and landed in a full face-plant, her shapely rump stuck straight up in the air.

The shinigami captain had to ask, "Are all wizard duels this ... ludicrous?"

"With Tonks around ..." The big man's ending sigh spoke volumes.

The female auror sat up, spat grass and dirt from her mouth, and protested, "Oi!"

"I do not wish to harm you," Captain Kuchiki tried one last time to reason with the duo. "Lay down your weapons."

"I don't know who you are or what you hope to gain by attacking Hogwarts," the wizard said, "but we can't surrender to you."

"Did you not hear your leader's own words? He admits to holding two of our people captive beneath this very castle."

The woman shot back, "I don't believe it!"

"And the melody we just heard?" Kuchiki asked. "I assume it has meaning for you, as it did for me. Your facial expressions and body language both indicated a rather strong reaction. A negative one, most certainly. Tell me, what did you feel?"

The witch shuddered and climbed back to her feet. "I don't know why Fawkes would ... there has to be some reason. There's no way Professor Dumbledore would do something as evil as what you're sayin'."

"The proof is in his own words, spoken less than an hour ago. The four who joined him on the steps can confirm everything."

"I said, _I don't believe you!_"

"That is your right. My right, however, is to overcome you by whatever means necessary. Like your own, our magical society is protected through stealth and secrecy. We cannot ... we will not ... allow it to be threatened by Albus Dumbledore's thirst for power. If you will not surrender, you leave me no choice." The Squad 6 captain raised his zanpakuto. "Scatter, Sen―"

Dumbledore's magically amplified voice interrupted every activity. "Boy, stop your attack and back away. All of you! Lay down your weapons, now, unless you wish harm to befall your friends."

As one, Byakuya and his opponents faced the main steps. Across the school grounds, reapers and wizards did the same.

The first thing Kuchiki noted was Ichigo Kurosaki in close quarter attack against the Headmaster's Hogwarts shield. From what he could see, the barrier was seconds away from failing. As he watched, Kurosaki stared at something behind Dumbledore, inside the building. The boy snarled and withdrew both his power and his combat position.

Severus Snape stepped into view. Toshiro Hitsugaya dangled across his left arm, a pathetic figure, ragdoll limp and unresponsive, barely recognizable beneath the wounds and blood. An equally motionless black cat draped the wizard's right arm. Vague sunlight, filtered through the battle haze, reflected off a silver ring around Yoruichi Shihoin's throat. Similar bands encircled Toshiro Hitsugaya's neck, wrists, and ankles.

Snape held the tip of his wand tight against the diminutive captain's filthy white hair.

"Shack, how ... this can't be real ... can it?" The big wizard ground his teeth together and lowered his wand. "Why would the Headmaster threaten a cat ... and ... and the other" The young witch covered her mouth to contain the urge to retch. Her hair turned an unpleasant shade of puke-green that matched her complexion. "He's a little boy. A child. What has ... what has Snape done to him?"

"He's been tortured," Byakuya Kuchiki removed the wand from the witch's trembling hand, "over the course of five days."

The black man, Shack, handed over his wand without protest.

Albus Dumbledore's voice carried through the stunned silence. "As you can see, we hold the final pawns. You will give to me every confiscated wand and lay your weapons on the ground at the base of the stairs. Failure to follow these instructions will result in further harm to your companions."

"Damn you!" Kurosaki snarled, Zangetsu pointed directly at the wizard's heart. "This is low, even for a bastard like you!"

"Let me be quite clear regarding this situation," Dumbledore said. His voice carried to every ear, but his eyes remained fixed on the substitute soul reaper. "There can be no misunderstanding. Should even one of you resist, we will kill both hostages."

()()()()

**Final A/N: Oh yeah. One more thing. This chapter is nearly 7,600 words long. Enjoy your pressie!**


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Shunsui Kyoraku stared first at Shihoin then at Hitsugaya. _Kami, it's worse than I imagined it would be._

They'd known from the beginning that the condition of the Gotei 13's Squad 10 captain would be bad. Even without Yoruichi Shihoin's and Luna Lovegood's reports, their own zanpakutos' response to Hyorinmaru's weakening would have confirmed it. Even so, to go from abstract to reality, to see the terrible damage first-hand, was numbing. The tiny, wasted boy before them, his limp body covered head to foot in bleeding cuts, sores, burns, welts, and lacerations bore little resemblance to the proud young captain they knew.

Such evils exist in countless forms. Kyoraku was far too cynical to believe otherwise. This was not his first exposure with the darker side of an enemy's psyche. With one of their own, Sosuke Aizen, plotting against them, it would certainly not be the last. Sadly, neither past experience nor future paths helped one cope with the current situation.

The junior reapers paused, awaiting orders from their leaders. Every wizard and witch froze in disbelief. Even the few remaining automatons stopped moving.

"Please note the glowing runes etched into the metal collars," Dumbledore said. "At this moment, my companion holds an active spell on these bands. Should the spell be broken―say, as the result of a physical assault―the bands will constrict. The result would be instant death, perhaps even full decapitation."

"Damn you to hell, you bastard!" the orange-haired youth in front of him growled in rage.

Ichigo Kurosaki stood closest to Dumbledore, Zangetsu held ready to resume the fight. Close behind the substitute soul reaper stood Jushiro Ukitake, Anissina DuLay and Hanataro Yamada. Shunsui spotted Byakuya Kuchiki on the far side of the gathering, his fight on permanent pause. The remaining reapers were evenly scattered around the area. A kido barrier contained all of the magic users except for a dark-skinned wizard and a green-haired witch (both of whom had fought Captain Kuchiki), Alastor Moody (still encased in polar ice), Severus Snape, and Albus Dumbledore.

Snape stood just outside the Hogwarts entry, his back pressed tight into a corner where two stone walls joined, presumably to protect himself on two sides from the reapers' flash-step ability. The tip of his wand burrowed against Hitsugaya's right temple. True to Dumbledore's claims, the runic writings carved into the collars glowed from within.

Shunsui felt a hot surge of anger at the sight of a fellow captain, the young prodigy of the Gotei 13, in such horrible condition.

_Toshiro-kun's gigai...it's at its limit. Without maintenance and with everything the wizards have done to it...we may already be too late._

Seeing Hitsugaya's wasted body clad in tattered remnants of clothing, Rangiku Matsumoto cried, _"Taicho!"_ and tried to reach her captain. Captain Sigursdottur and Lieutenant Abarai held her back.

The shocking tableau hit the magic-users particularly hard. Long-held beliefs and allegiances fell to pieces. More than one mortal felt pain like a sucker-punch in the gut.

A quivering voice rose from inside the prisoners' cube. "Albus?"

"I'm sorry that you must witness this, Minerva. Rest assured. I will do everything in my power to save you all, up to and including executing enemies of the wizarding world."

Hagrid moaned, "Dumbledore, sir, no!" even as Molly Weasley wailed, "He's a child! How could you hurt an innocent little boy?" Other witches and wizards voiced similar protests.

"Do not be deceived by appearances, any of you," Snape insisted, an impatient bite to his tone. He shook his left arm and the unconscious form draped across it. "This is no child. The body is a homunculus, an artificial construct deliberately formed to appear as an innocent youth. The spirit within is in no way human."

"That doesna change anything," the deputy headmistress objected, "an' well ye both know it! House elves aren't human, nor are goblins, centaurs, or merfolk, but they're all living, thinking, feeling beings! How could you do this, Albus? _Why_ would you do this?"

"I do it for the preservation of our kind. Voldemort must be stopped. These creatures can mold their spirit into an artificial body, much like Voldemort has done. We must learn all we can about this ability, how to replicate it and use it to our advantage. The runic bands would work well enough to contain Voldemort's spirit inside his homunculus, but they require getting close enough to capture him and would not solve the dilemma of how to kill him. We must find a way to trap or destroy his spirit from a safe distance. This power could mean the difference between life and death for us all. I need that power..._Harry_ needs that power to defeat Voldemort!"

"I think you said it right the first time, old man," Ichigo said. "_You_ need. _You_ want. It's not for this Harry person. You want it for _yourself_."

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes blazed in indignation as he looked to the wizards and shouted, "That's not true!"

Ukitake put forth another pertinent question. "If that is so, why did you try so hard to keep everything secret? You do not appear to be the type to feel embarrassment, nor is Severus Snape. If you are not ashamed of what you've done, why hide it?"

When Dumbledore refused to answer, Kuchiki flash-stepped closer to the steps. His calm yet stern voice passed judgment. "You hide because your actions contradict everything the 'light' side stands for. You hide because your own people will resist you once they see what you have done. You will lose their support―social, political, financial, and martial―along with their loyalty. You shun the one basic truth that no benevolent soul can deny: evil deeds never lead to honorable results."

"Enough of this!" Dumbledore slashed the air with his left hand. "You will bring all wands and weapons to me. Severus, if they have not complied within one minute, kill the werecat."

Armand Rousseau faced the wizardfolk locked inside the kido prison and said, "I believe we can now trust you all to leesen to what ees being said 'ere today. that you can judge for yourselves who ees in zee right, and who ees in zee wrong."

A wave of the kido master's hand dissolved the barrier. Though free, the magic users were slow to move, stunned by revulsion and dismay, until one witch stumbled forward.

"May I have my wand?"

Minerva McGonagall stood beside Shunsui, right hand extended, palm up and trembling. "My lady?"

"As Deputy Headmistress, I can take down the defenses, even cancel his shield."

"Why would you do that? He's your Headmaster. Your leader."

"No longer. I willna follow a man who could do something so horrific to a child, then dare to use that same wee bairn as a hostage!"

Shunsui offered her a gentle smile. "I believe you mean that."

Except for the half-giant who sat on the ground with tears flowing into his shaggy black beard, the remaining magic-users moved to stand behind Professor McGonagall. Professors Flitwick and Sprout, Arthur and Molly Weasley, and Remus Lupin stood in the forefront. Remus acted as their spokesperson.

"We all do. Albus...we see it clearly now. He's played us for fools. Used our loyalty to cover his crimes. I would never have believed it possible, had I not seen it with my own eyes."

Shunsui studied them for several seconds before returning McGonagall's and Lupin's wands. Around them, other reapers returned every wand to its original owner.

"Thank you," Professor McGonagall said.

While genuinely grateful, her voice hung heavy with regret. She turned to face the castle, braced herself with a deep breath, pointed her wand skyward, and shouted a complicated string of Latin.

No light beam appeared, but the results of her spell were immediate and spectacular. The boundary wards glittered like a dusting of diamond powder in the early morning light. With initial slowness that increased as the effect spread, holes appeared in the barrier, their edges peeling back like parchment near an open flame. Fresh air pushed by mountain winds rushed through, agitating the smoke and dust. Live embers from the still-blazing greenhouse and pine grove swirled on the air, rejuvenated by the influx of additional oxygen. All around the battlefield, heads turned or hands raised to shield sensitive faces.

Another wave of McGonagall's wand gathered the foul cloud and sent it downwind of the castle. The stink lingered but the irritating miasma vanished. Sunlight, once diffuse, bathed the damaged buildings and destroyed grounds.

A final spell deactivated the still-intact automatons, most of which overbalanced and toppled to the ground.

From within his shield, Dumbledore cried out, "Minerva, no!"

Tears tracked down the witch's cheeks. She aimed directly at her former leader and cast, "Finite contego!"

Dumbledore's golden shield dissolved. Snape flexed his wand hand against Hitsugaya's head, but Albus raised his hand to forbid any retaliation. Shunsui wanted to cheer; Dumbledore understood the situation. Without the hostages, the two wizards had nothing to hide behind.

"First Fawkes, now you, Minerva. Why have you turned away from the light?"

"I do believe it is the other way around," the witch replied. "You turned from the light, Albus Dumbledore, not us. What they've said is true. You want the power for yourself, and you do not feel shame for your actions. I've known for years but refused to admit it, even to myself. You _are _capable of grey, even black, magic if it suits your purposes."

"You may have turned my people against me," the old wizard glared at the reapers, "but I still hold the hostages. I commanded you to return every wand to me. By doing otherwise you have endangered their lives."

"Why, Albus?" the Weasley patriarch asked. "Why return the wands to you? Why not to their owners?"

His wife, Molly, answered for them all. "I'll tell you why, Arthur. He's afraid of what we'll do to him once we have our magic."

"My guess is," Filius Flitwick added his own supposition through clenched, pointed teeth, products of his part-Goblin ancestry, "he wanted us defenseless so that he could obliviate our memories of his transgressions."

Pomona Sprout nodded her agreement. "And replace them with false memories that cast him in a hero's light."

"Oh dear me, Headmaster Dumbledore," Captain Kyoraku sneered with a sardonic tip of his straw sakkat, his pink floral kimono fluttering in the renewed breeze, "you seem to have dug yourself a rather deep hole."

Dumbledore studied the faces of the witches and wizards but found no support. In desperation, he turned to the one creature whose loyalty could never be questioned. "Fawkes. Do your duty as my bonded familiar. Use your song to overcome these spirits of darkness."

The magical avian pulled in on himself, head low and wings slumped. All fire and vibrancy leeched from his plumage, turning it a lackluster rose-grey. Fawkes lifted his head and released a single sound.

In no way was it a song or even a sustained note. It could only be described as a discordant shriek. Albus Dumbledore clutched his head, screamed and dropped to his knees. Something ripped in his soul, a connection violently and permanently severed, a magical contract revoked.

The screech continued long after a human's lungs would have failed. When the phoenix at last fell silent, the only sounds were the crackle of fires and the Headmaster's panted, pain-filled breaths. With a final quaver of anguish, the phoenix rose off the crumbled stone it had perched upon, hovered in midair then vanished in a swirl of flames.

Ichigo Kurosaki's normally irreverent voice shook from exposure to the phoenix's power. "Okay...what just happened here?"

Her words choked with grief, McGonagall replied, "Fawkes...has broken his bond with Albus Dumbledore."

()()()()

From her hiding place in the forest's edge close to the main gate, Luna stared at the skies above the castle and watched the wards disintegrate.

"This looks promising," she said, "yet dire at the same time. It's good that the Headmaster's plans are stopped, and that Lady Yoruichi and young Toshiro will soon be rescued. It's bad because Hogwarts isn't as safe as we thought it to be. The defenses fell far faster than one might have expected. A perplexing situation, wouldn't you say, Professor Firenze?"

The palomino centaur nodded his regal head, champagne-blond hair waving in a brisk wind. "Indeed, little scholar."

Senses stretched to their limit, Firenze held his yew longbow strung and ready, an arrow notched against the sinew. As a centaur exiled from his herd, any venture away from Hogwarts carried with it the risk of a violent encounter. Full activation of the boundary wards could well draw scouts to investigate. If they caught him anywhere in the woods, Magorian, Bane, and several others from the Forbidden Forest Herd would attack without warning. None would give any thought or care for the human girl who would fall beneath their hooves.

"What do you think?" Luna asked. "Should we wait, or should we return to the school?"

With his greater eyesight, Firenze studied the expansive area before them. "I see no further bursts of spell fire, but the weighted air remains. The smoke has been pushed downwind. Both the scots pine grove and one of the greenhouses still burn."

"Oh my, how dreadful. Professor Sprout will be most upset. She does so love her flora." Luna huffed and shrugged. "It sounds like the fighting is over, but it doesn't feel as though the situation is resolved. Still...I believe it is safe to approach. I confess to an almost overwhelming curiosity."

A soft smile graced the centaur's classic features. "You worry for your friends."

"Hmmm. That, too."

The breeze carried a distant, raucous sound to their senses. When Firenze grunted, staggered, and shook his head, Luna rested both of her small hands on his human chest.

"Professor? Does the sound hurt your ears?"

"For a moment only. It is gone now."

"What do you think it was?"

"The stars do not say."

A flash of light caught the centaur's peripheral vision. Cream hooves danced as he turned, tensed for battle, bow raised and string half-drawn. Cerulean blue eyes searched for the source of the brief flare.

Finding it, Firenze lowered his weapon and said, "Little scholar, look there, near the munching gorse bush."

Luna followed his gaze to the tall, plum-topped magical plant. Even as she watched, the carnivorous flora's spiny leaves groped about, searching for the thing that had disturbed the air around it.

A feathered something lay at the base of the plant―slightly larger than a turkey, with rose-grey plumage and long tail feathers. One of the plant's questing tendrils brushed across a limp wing. The bird shivered but made no effort to move.

Luna gathered the creature into her arms and backed away from the carnivorous munching gorse. Only then did she recognize him.

"Fawkes? Professor, it's Fawkes, the Headmaster's familiar." She cradled the avian and held him close. To the phoenix, she said, "You took a bit of a risk, my friend. Gorse is highly flammable, you know. Not the safest place for a fire phoenix. You might have burnt half the forest."

Firenze stroked the bird's drooping wing, expecting soft warmth. Instead, a cool, fine grit dusted every feather. He placed calloused fingertips beneath Fawkes's beak and gently raised his head. Flat, dull eyes stared into nothing.

"What's wrong with him?" Luna asked. "Is he sick?"

"The herd's records tell of something similar to this," Firenze replied. "Many moon-turns ago, the stars spoke of a she-phoenix whose bonded human strayed from the path of righteousness. The phoenix could not follow her bonded's commands, nor could she defy him. In despair, she broke from him, voiding their pledge. The wizard, known forever after as Oathbreaker, spent the remainder of his days searching for the lost half of his soul."

"What...what happened to the she-phoenix?"

"The stars said she suffered in grief and silence for five lifetimes of man. Only then did she open her heart to another."

Luna's eyes shimmered. "Then...this is what has happened to Dumbledore and Fawkes? Fawkes has broken their bond?"

"So it would seem."

Luna drew the avian tight to her chest, lowered her face into his feathers, and cried.

"Little scholar. If what we fear is true, the situation will be volatile at best. The Headmaster will certainly be angry. The loss of his familiar may have driven him beyond either thought or reason. He could be in any state between these extremes. Returning to the school at this point would be most dangerous."

"I know. Staying here won't solve anything, either. If anything, we might be in greater danger from beings in the forest who've been drawn by all of the commotion. If we go to the school, we might be able to help...to help..."

Luna's eyes unfocused. She shivered and returned her attention to the creature in her arms. She stroked his feathers and kissed his crown. Fresh tears fell on the avian's head.

"Dear, dear Fawkes. I know you hurt, body and spirit," Luna whispered into the magical creature's subdued crest, "but there's something that needs doing. Something only you can do." Fawkes gave a doleful _mrrrp._ The upturned end carried a listless note of question. "The newcomers will overcome Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape, and their crimes are now known to the adult wizardfolk. However, the one person who needs most to know the truth is locked in one of the towers. In Gryffindor Tower, to be precise. Can you flash there and get Harry Potter? Are you strong enough after what's happened?"

A modicum of color returned to the bird's plumage. Again, Fawkes chirruped a question which Luna seemed to understand.

"Yes, Harry's presence is vital. I can't say why, only that I know this in my deepest heart. Harry _must_ escape the tower and join everyone on the outer grounds. If he doesn't, three worlds will burn."

()()()()

"We seem to be at an impasse," Ukitake said. "You cannot kill your hostages. The instant you do, we will attack without mercy. On our side, we dare not move while you hold a wand to our friends' heads. The question seems to be, who will back down first?"

"I assure you," Dumbledore said, "it will not be me."

"Time will te―"

A burst of flame appeared in the open space between the invaders and the school steps. Three teenagers in black school robes appeared, holding tight to the phoenix's tail feathers. The instant the trio let go, Fawkes vanished in another gout of fire, never once acknowledging anyone else. Their appearance caused a range of emotions for everyone surrounding them, from confusion to worry, from apprehension to vehement anger.

Harry, Ron and Hermione gaped at the demolished area. The boys stared at the people, some familiar and some not, as well as at the pitted earth and great trenches gouged into the grounds as far as their eyes could see. Fire still raged in one of the greenhouses, fueled by plant sap and dragon dung fertilizer. Further away, flames reduced the grove of scots pines to charcoal. The battleground testified to the power and ferocity expended by everyone involved.

With heavy hearts, they searched for the bodies that would surely litter the ground. They saw injuries on both sides, all minor, but no dead. With such destruction, how could there be no fatalities?

Hermione had yet to notice the grounds, her back being turned. Her eyes bulged at the damage done to the castle's façade.

Professor McGonagall hurried over and demanded, "Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger! Why are you here? It isn't safe!"

"Professor?" Harry tore his attention from the obliterated landscape. Staring up at his Head of House, he replied, "Fawkes came to the Tower, insisted that we grab onto his tail. Didn't...didn't the Headmaster send him?"

McGonagall attempted to herd the trio further away from the castle, toward Kingsley, Tonks, and the Weasley parents. "Too much has happened to go into details now, Mr. Potter. Stand away, the three of you. There's still danger here."

Hermione and Ron moved to obey. Ron, in particular, hurried to join his beckoning family to confirm their safety. Harry would have, as well, except that he caught sight of Severus Snape and his small hostage. The young wizard jerked to a halt.

"What...what's happening? What's going on?"

"Mr. Potter, I said to come away. It's not safe."

Harry avoided McGonagall's reaching hand. He stared from person to person, taking in everyone's position and stance. Dumbledore and Snape against everyone else...Mad-Eye Moody trapped in a block of blue-white ice...wizards and oddly-robed strangers mixed together...weapons and wands at the ready but unable to act...a bloody, unconscious child draped across Snape's left arm, the potion master's wand tip pressed against his head.

The truth was instantly clear. A chill of foreboding constricted his chest.

"Snape is holding that boy hostage. What's happened to him? Did Snape do _that_?"

"Harry, get away from here," Dumbledore commanded. "This is no place for you. Get inside. Return to Gryffindor Tower this instant!"

"You expect me to leave while _all this_ is happening? You're barmy!" Harry waved an arm to encompass everyone and everything. "Fawkes brought us out here. If you didn't you send him, why did he do it?"

Dumbledore's face contorted in a rictus of rage and pain. Harry stumbled two steps back, stunned by the Headmaster's volatile reaction.

"Harry, please. Move away," Remus Lupin sidled close to the boy and whispered. "Fawkes has broken their bond. We don't yet know how Dumbledore is going to react. The loss of his familiar might very well drive him mad. With his skills and power, he could kill us all."

A low moan came from the direction of the steps. For the first time, Harry noticed the black cat tucked into the bend of Snape's right elbow. Golden eyes blinked open.

"Do not move, Shihoin," the regal man with the white headpieces said. "They hold a spell on the band around your throat."

In true Gryffindor fashion, Harry acted without conscious thought. One moment he stood next to Remus Lupin. The next he had mounted the steps, stopping less than two feet from his most hated Professor.

"This is wrong. Whatever your reasons for this, they can't be right. Please, Professor Snape. Let them go."

"Potter, you will not interfere this time." Snape snarled, his eyes blazing. "You will learn your place, even if I must half-kill you to drive the lesson home!"

Compelled by his deep-seated hatred of all things named "Potter," Severus Snape forgot his hostages, forgot the situation, and forgot Dumbledore. He even forgot to maintain his spell on the collars. He thought only to use his wand on the arrogant, interfering _Potter brat_.

The high-powered stunner caught Harry square in the chest. Thrown back, his skull slammed against one step. His jaw struck another. Harry tumbled over rubble and earth, pulled by gravity until he bumped into the woman with the long blonde braids.

()()()()

The wizard boy's interference gave the reapers the opening they needed. The instant the spell canceled from her collar, Yoruichi Shihoin twisted as only a cat can. All of her remaining claws sank into Snape's face, particularly around the eyes (to blind him) and mouth (to prevent further spell-casting). Her teeth tore at every reachable bit of skin, including the wizard's throat and ears. Greasy black hair fell to the ground, ripped from his scalp clean to the roots.

Snape roared in pain. He did not notice the weight disappear from his left arm. His entire attention remained fixed on the black cat intent on shredding him from crown to chest.

While Yoruichi distracted the wizard, Rangiku Matsumoto flash-stepped in and snatched her captain away. Before Snape could sense her presence or comprehend the loss of his hostage, the lieutenant shunpoed to the healers with her precious burden.

A banishing charm sent the cat hurtling through the air. Professor Snape savored his freedom for a fraction of a second before an expelliarmus, two stunners, a petrificus totalus, and two kido bindings brought him down.

The instant Snape banished Yoruichi, Byakuya Kuchiki calculated her trajectory and shunpoed into place. The nobleman caught his childhood friend before she could slam into a boulder.

Dumbledore, caught equally off-guard, managed one spell―an accio aimed at his former hostage―which missed due to interference from two invaders. Before he could cast another, magical spells and reaper bindings slammed into him from eight separate sources.

()()()()

Muddied sounds penetrated the void. Comfortable with not thinking, he tried his best to ignore the jumble. In the darkness of unfeeling, he was pain-free and protected. He didn't have to remember anything, not even his name. In the un-sensing abyss, he could not betray his oaths or his friends. He no longer remembered why that thought was important, only that it was so.

Though the unending jumble of voices reminded him of events in the outside world, he refused the stirrings of noise and light. He did not want to return to captivity and torture, or to witness things done to others in an effort to make him break his oaths. The void between worlds, between a shinigami's life and whatever followed, was the one defense he had left to himself. Unfortunately for this desire, one voice carried over the general muddle of sound, the one voice he could not deny.

_My master. I am here. You are safe. Wake, my bearer._

No. It wasn't possible. Hyorinmaru was in faraway London. The words were nothing more than the wishful imaginings of a dying mind.

_I am no illusion or dream. I am here with you at Hogwarts. Feel me._

Could it be? _Hyorinmaru?_

The ice dragon's reply, though distant and weak, overflowed with love. _I am with you, Toshiro Hitsugaya. We are together once more._

_Safe?_

_You are rescued, though your wounds are grave. In truth, I do not believe you will survive them. Know that we are together. Whatever happens, I will stay with you always._

Something heavy and warm settled over Toshiro's shivering body. He opened swollen eyelids for a brief moment, long enough to see Jushiro Ukitake beside him, having laid his haori over the injured captain. The wool-lined material, warmed from contact with the older shinigami's body, felt wonderful against Toshiro's skin. Even more precious was the feel of a zanpakuto as Ukitake placed Hyorinmaru across Hitsugaya's torso and laid his hands atop the hilt.

Toshiro's heart fluttered and swelled. All of his love and joy surged with one word. _Hyorinmaru._

The effort to remain awake took more strength than he possessed. Comforted by the thrum of synergy with his zanpakuto, fading though it was, Toshiro floated in the realm between consciousness and coma, able to hear words spoken around him, to feel the warm sunlight, and to sense the flow of healing reiatsu into his gigai, but little else.

He barely heard Ukitake ask, "How bad is it, Captain DuLay?"

"His injuries are too severe for kido alone, even with the help of Healer Yamada's spirit sword. The problems we've encountered trying to heal magic-induced wounds only make it more difficult. At this point, a fully stocked operating room would not be sufficient. I have no choice but to risk Awakening, though even that may not be enough," the woman whispered. "We can only pray the wizards don't realize how powerful it is." Her voice softened still further as she breathed, "Awaken, Lunalyn."

A wash of green light filtered through Hitsugaya's closed eyes.

()()()()

"Harry! Harry, answer me, are you alright?"

One of the oddly-dressed strangers, a young man with brown hair and round metal-framed glasses, held Hermione back and said loud enough for everyone to hear, "Don't touch the healer's barrier, anyone! Stay well clear. It's at full strength right now. Touching it without permission could be fatal."

"Hermione, calm down," Harry sighed as he rose onto one elbow.

His left hand rubbed the red welt along his jawline and a sore knot on the back of his head. The throbbing soreness faded even as he cataloged his injuries. Did the glowing cupola hasten healing?

He offered his worried friends a rueful grin. "I'm hearing a bell or two ringing in my ears, but Uncle Vernon's given me harder taps than that. The bumps and bruises are healing even as we speak. I think this―" he pointed to the green shape over his head, "―has healing properties of some kind. Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Thank you for trying to help us," a man's voice said.

Harry faced the five other people with him inside the green dome. The willowy female with outrageously long blonde braids and the younger male wearing foreign-looking black robes with flared leggings crouched over their wounded companion. He watched as they gently pushed aside the white coat that covered the child, pulled jagged, bloody wounds closed as fast as they could do so, and applied medicines and bandages taken from nearby bags. All the while, their hands glowed bright green. The point and first two inches of a sword touched a large slash along the boy's left leg. A red mist rose from that and countless other wounds, flowing into a red gauge along the flat side of the blade. Even as Harry watched, the red line rapidly rose toward "full," yet very few of the more serious injuries showed any sign of healing.

The wounded boy didn't appear to be conscious, yet he clung tight to a gleaming silver sword almost as long as his body. Harry could see several broken fingers, but the child refused to release the weapon, gripping its hilt as though it were a lifeline.

The busty woman with strawberry-blonde hair knelt beside the boy's head, in obvious distress. The fifth person, the white-haired man, met Harry's eyes.

"I...I couldn't just stand by when..." Harry looked from the man to the boy and back again, noting their common white hair, though the child's was hard to distinguish beneath the filth and blood. "Is he...is he your son?"

The man stared sadly at his injured friend and shook his head. "No, he isn't, though I would be proud to call him such."

A weak and shaky voice spoke. "I know you."

The speaker was the injured boy, the one Dumbledore and Snape had used as a hostage. Harry stared into eyes a deeper green than his own. The light in their depths darkened even as he watched.

"That night...you were the one...who tried to save me."

Harry blinked, confused. When had he tried to save this boy? He'd never seen him before today.

"Save you? Me?"

"The night...I tried to get away," he wheezed. "If only I'd...listened...trusted you...I might have escaped that night. The old man did something to you...put you to sleep...for that...I'm sorry."

"Did something?"

Harry's gut clenched. His lungs wouldn't work properly. He felt disconnected and lightheaded.

_He said 'the night.' Which night? Think, Harry! Are there gaps in my memories? Sunday night. I left the hospital wing after visiting my friends. Barely avoided a fight with Malfoy. Snape...Professor McGonagall came back to Hogwarts from St. Mungo's. I went...I went outside, visited Hagrid. Then...then...what? I wanted to be alone, so I walked toward the lake and...I woke in my bed Monday morning._

"Was it...did he cast obliviate?" Harry asked the boy, his voice strangled. "Was that the spell he used? Did he point his wand at me and say 'obliviate'?"

Hitsugaya's head moved the slightest bit.

Outside the dome, Minerva McGonagall stared at Dumbledore in disgust. "Albus. Surely, you didn't!"

Harry turned to the still-bound Headmaster, visible on the other side of the energy wall, and screamed, "After what Lockhart did, you _know_ how I feel about that spell! No one has the right to tamper with someone else's memories. You take away a memory, you take away a person's right to choose. You did that to me! Damn you. Damn your manipulative, shriveled old soul to hell!"

"Harry, you must understand―"

"NO I DON'T! I don't have to understand _anything!_ You erased a memory from my mind because you knew I would have argued with you, maybe fought against what you were doing!" Harry slashed a hand toward the injured boy. "Look at him! He's just a child, a good two or three years younger than me! Even I can tell he's been tortured. Absolutely nothing happens in Hogwarts that you don't know about, so you had to've been involved. Snape would've helped you do it, and after what's happened here today, I don't doubt that both of you are responsible. I...I would have done everything I could to stop you. So don't lie to me, you ruddy old bastard. You didn't obliviate me for the 'greater good' or 'for my own wellbeing.' You did it because it was easier for _you_!"

While Harry vented his rage at Dumbledore, the male with the white headpieces approached the green healing dome and suggested, "Perhaps if we remove the bands, it will help with part of the healing."

A middle-aged witch with striking blue eyes and cropped salt-and-pepper hair stepped forward. "My name is Bathsheda Babbling. I teach Ancient Runes. If you will allow me, I can remove the restraints from...the cat?"

The man studied the feline in his arms. To those watching, it looked as if they exchanged an entire conversation in a single glance. He nodded and said, "Do it."

Bathsheda turned so that Harry could follow her movements. "Mr. Potter, you're the only person with a wand in there, so you will have to remove the bindings on the boy. I'll show you what to do. It's simple enough once you know the correct combination."

Harry had never taken an Ancient Runes class in his life. He knew Professor Babbling only as a face at the head table during meals. He turned questioning eyes to Hermione, who replied without hesitation.

"I've studied under the Professor for three years, Harry. She's really very good. Do as she says and you'll do fine."

Professor Babbling urged the man with the cat closer to the barrier, near enough for Harry to visualize the correct rune sequence that accompanied the incantation. Harry jerked, surprised to recognize the last and largest etching as the one he'd drawn in the dirt earlier that week―the one Hermione had called both a "master rune" and a "locking glyph."

Following Professor Babbling's careful instructions, Harry pressed his wand tip to each rune in the proper order and voiced the unlocking word for all except the last symbol. The lesser forms required only a word, whereas the locking glyph demanded an actual charm, a combination of transfiguration (to open the otherwise solid ring) and anti-jinx (to deactivate the anti-tampering spells). Unsure of how much power to put into the casting, Harry erred on the side of caution and pushed as much magic as he could through his wand.

The bands around the wounded child's throat, wrists and ankles popped open and shot away like bullets from a gun. The left wristband narrowly missed the white-haired man's head. The busty woman yelped and dodged the other. Harry threw himself flat to the ground to avoid one of the ankle restraints, while the collar shot straight up. All five bands slammed into the green cupola where they vanished in a puff of electricity and smoke.

The wounded child gave a ragged gasp that relaxed with a sigh of relief. Harry hissed and grimaced at the deep burns left behind on the boy's skin.

()()()()

Professor Flitwick was first to note the approach of Firenze and a blonde girl from the direction of the main gates and the Hogsmeade road. He stared, open-mouthed, as the Ravenclaw fourth-year stopped before him, a wand tucked behind her right ear. An exhausted phoenix lay cradled in her arms.

"Miss Lovegood! How on earth did you get out of Ravenclaw Tower? The lockdown should have prevented anyone from entering or leaving until the alert has ended."

"It's quite simple, Professor," Luna answered with blunt politeness. "I was never in the tower to begin with."

"Impossible! The prefects and I checked the roll. All students were present."

Luna thought about it then smiled and asked, "Might Lady Helena have assisted with the tally?" Seeing confirmation on his face, she nodded and continued, "I'm sure she had a good reason to hide my absence. She has been most helpful to me, after all."

The fourteen-year-old 'claw ignored the sputterings of her Head of House. Instead, she turned to face Dumbledore. The Headmaster lay on the ground, mummified from shoulders to ankles by ropes of multiple colors, densities, shapes, and lengths.

"As you may recall, sir, I did warn you. Nargle infestations as serious as yours can often be life-threatening."

Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock. "You. You're the one who helped them. Got them through the wards. Gave them information." His eyes fell on the magical bird. "You stole Fawkes from me!" He surged against the bindings. Raw power destroyed the magic-based restraints. The glowing kido ropes strained but held firm. "You are responsible for this!"

"No, old man," the orange-haired teenager cut into the conversation, placing his body between the angry wizard and the girl just in case. "You brought yourself down. Shifting the blame onto someone else won't change that."

Stubbornly defiant to the end, Dumbledore continued to justify his actions, "I have done nothing but attempt in my own humble way to save the wizarding world from destruction. Those who have never held a position of authority or power would never understand. Sacrifices must sometimes be made for―"

Minerva cut off the old wizard, her wand pointed directly at his groin. "If you dare say 'for the Greater Good,' I will hex your dangly bits down to the size of peanuts, just see if I don't!"

Dumbledore wisely did not complete his sentence.

()()()()

"Rangiku," Toshiro's breath came shorter, more uneven and shallow. Fewer signals from various parts of his body reached his brain, as though he was shutting down, one muscle, one organ at a time. There wasn't much time to say what needed to be said. "Until they assign...a new captain...the squad...is yours."

Tears poured down Matsumoto's face to splash against Toshiro's tangled hair. "_Taicho_, no—don't say that. You're going to be fine. It can't—I won't let it—"

"I'm dying." Toshiro looked down. His gaze settled on the Avalon healer. Though she never stopped fighting to save him, he found reluctant confirmation in her grim expression. He looked back up at his lieutenant and tried hard to smile. "Thank you, dear Rangiku. That day when you found me...at the sweet shop in Junrinan...you gave me strength...and purpose. I like to think...I made a difference."

From his place at Hitsugaya's side, Jushiro Ukitake answered for them all, his voice overcome with unshed tears, "You made a difference, my young friend. In so many lives. So many..."

"Thank you."

Voices of the Gotei 13 members of the rescue party who stood outside of the healing dome echoed the acknowledgment, many with voices tinged with regret and failure. The nearby wizards and witches who viewed the child's struggles hung their heads in shame for what had been done to him on Hogwarts' soil, and expressed a whispered heartache for these strangers' pain.

"I don't understand," Harry said. "Can't you do anything for him? Your magic healed my head in less than a minute. I know he's badly injured but..."

"Your type of magic is different from ours," Ukitake said. "Finding the right combination of healing spells to counteract it is...difficult."

"Maybe...the damage caused by our magic can be _healed_ by our magic," Harry said, desperate to help. "Madam Pomfrey has healed me loads of times. Maybe...maybe she can help your friend."

"No!" Matsumoto curled around Hitsugaya in protection. "I won't let another of your kind hurt him ever again!"

"Lieutenant...you might consider leaning back a little," Ukitake said, a sad smile on his face. "Your Captain is having some trouble breathing."

Rangiku looked down to see her ample breasts pressing down on her captain's face, blocking both sight and air. The nearby magicfolk looked on with surprised or scandalized expressions.

"Oh, Captain. I'm sorry!"

Toshiro gasped several desperate breaths before finally recovering. Once he could speak again, he whispered to Matsumoto, the shadow of a smile on his face, "Considering...that's how we met...your breasts shoved into my face...it seems fitting...as an end."

"_Taicho,_ no..." Rangiku wailed.

The dying shinigami turned to Harry and whispered, "Thank you for the offer...but magical healing...doesn't work on me. They tried but failed."

"The limited healing spells that Dumbledore and Snape know might not work, but Madam Pomfrey knows thousands more, and there are potions," Harry urged. "If there's no hope for you without our help, isn't it at least worth trying?"

Jushiro Ukitake leaned over and whispered to the Avalon Healer captain, "The process used to create a gigai is complex, with many varied ingredients, processes, and procedures. They could be responsible for part of his resistance to magical healing. It might also explain why it was so hard to heal Lieutenant Matsumoto's injury. If we can separate Captain Hitsugaya from his gigai, we might be able to do more. A combination of treatments might have a chance on his true form."

Captain DuLay asked of Hitsugaya, "Young Captain. Separating you from your mod body will increase the danger to you, but accepting his offer might be our only option. Do you want to take the risk?"

Turquoise eyes studied Harry for long, stressful seconds before he offered the barest hint of a nod.

Harry turned and called out to his friend, "Hermione, we need Madam Pomfrey. Run to the hospital wing as fast as you can!"

()()()()

Hermione Granger looked from one hard face to the next. She hesitated to make a hasty move with so many frightening, bladed weapons out and ready, and was reluctant to leave her friends alone with dangerous strangers.

"Harry―"

"He's dying, 'mione! Hurry!"

When the tall, dark-haired, grey-eyed man with the beveled headpieces said, "You may go," Hermione accepted the permission to move and sprinted toward the main doors. Before she moved three steps, she heard the apparent leader of the strangers say, "Abarai, go with her. Make sure she doesn't cause trouble."

"Yes, sir!"

The tattooed man with the white headband, his blood-red hair pulled up into a high, spiky ponytail that resembled a pineapple, blurred from a standing position and reappeared a fraction of a second later beside the running girl. He scooped her up in his arms and moved again, this time stopping in Hogwarts' deserted entry hall.

Terrified by the faster-than-apparition movement, Hermione squealed, beat at his chest with clenched fists, and kicked both legs. She was so surprised, she didn't even remember her wand. She was, however, teenage girl enough to note the hard, warm, well defined muscles of his arms and chest, as well as his rugged, untamed handsomeness. A tiny fragment of her brain that wasn't howling in panic noted that here was one person who had hair issues worse than her own.

"_Ahhh!_ Put me down, _put me down!_"

"Stop squirming!" The stranger's deep voice demanded. "We need speed right now, and with flash-step, I can run a hell of a lot faster than you can. Point me where I need to go."

Hermione gaped and blinked. Her arm rose almost against her will, pointing in the direction of the hospital wing. Her...carrier? transport? tattooed companion?...paused several times to take fresh directions. They reached the doors to the hospital wing ten times faster than if she'd run all the way on her own two legs.

Her stomach roiled, protesting being a frightened passenger of the stranger's "flash-step." When he set her back on her feet, her legs would not support her weight. She grabbed at the nearest thing, which happened to be the stranger's left arm. He held her steady until her body recognized that she once more had control.

"You're wasting time. You goin' in or am I?"

With an irritated glare, she pushed off his chest, hoping to stagger him. Instead, she staggered herself. The rock-hard body didn't move a fraction of an inch. Huffing in annoyance, Hermione threw open the doors to the hospital wing and cried, "Madam Pomfrey! Madam!"

"I'm here. Ms. Granger, how did you get out of the Tow―" The medical matron gasped and reared back at the sight of the tall, heavily tattooed stranger standing directly behind the Hogwarts fifth-year.

"There are injuries, Madam Pomfrey! One is critical. He...he's been..." Hermione's recollection of the tortured boy, not to mention traveling by flash-step, made her turn green.

"Out with it, girl. I won't know what potions to take with me if I don't know what's wrong."

Instead of the girl answering, the man behind her said in a hard, angry voice, "Broken bones, burns, deep cuts, and internal injuries. He likely hasn't eaten in days. He was tortured night and day for five days."

"What? But the battle only started―"

"Madam," Hermione cut her off as politely as she could, given the circumstances, "we'll explain everything later. Right now, a dying boy needs you."

()()()()

**A/N: I want to welcome 2012 with a heartfelt thank you to all who have read RotFH. I am flattered that the vast majority of reviews have been positive. Any honest critique, either positive or negative, is welcome. I take all comments seriously. In several cases, these reviews have strengthened the story or prevented canonical errors. To date, I have banned only one flamer from reviewing. For a story of this size and complexity, that feels a bit miraculous.**

**I also wish to extend a special note of gratitude to my beta, CressidaRene. Without her help, this story would have more holes than a slice of swiss cheese.**

**Happy New Year to all,**

**Meer-Heika**


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**A/N: With this chapter totaling over 8,800 words, RotFH tops 100,000 word mark and has over 425 reviews. When I wrote the prologue, I never guessed this would become an epic fic! This is the longest story I have written in over 30 years of fanfic writing for websites and zines. Thank you all for staying with me. From this point forward, we'll be seeing much more of Harry and his interactions with both worlds.**

**Oh, and to reviewer Critic: thanks for the flame. The marshmallows were delicious. Do write again once you learn how to spell.**

As Harry watched, Hermione vanished into the castle, along with one of the strangers, faster than apparition.

Professors Sprout and Flitwick separated from the others to douse the flames from the destroyed greenhouse before they could spread. The tallest of the strangers joined them, using ice magic to quell the fires. Over the rest of the grounds, wizards and newcomers alike stood or sat motionless, as though holding their breaths, waiting for the next act of the drama. Harry could still hear Hagrid's muffled sobs, as the half-giant came to terms with the proof of Dumbledore's crimes, exposed right before his eyes. Other than the efforts to save the remaining greenhouses and to keep the scots pine fire from spreading to the Forbidden Forest, the only movement was the frenetic actions of the healers as they medicated, sutured, closed, bound, bandaged, or otherwise treated their patient.

Like everyone else, Harry's attention fell upon the two healers and the critically injured youth. The simple act of looking upon the unconscious child made the fifth year Gryffindor's stomach turn.

_There are dozens of injuries, too many to count_, Harry thought,_ and that's just those I can see. What I smell is even worse. There have to be more wounds on his back, not to mention internal injuries. So many look serious. How do the healers even know where to start? He's so pale...does he even have enough blood left to keep him alive?_

The dying boy's respirations grew increasingly irregular. An ominous rattle and longer stretches between inhalations did not sound good. The worse his breathing, the faster the healers moved and the grimmer their faces became. The woman with the pink scarf stroked his crown and sobbed as if her heart would break.

Though he already knew the answer, Harry turned to the white-haired man and whispered, "He won't last until Madam Pomfrey gets here...will he?"

The stranger's grave expression confirmed Harry's fears.

Harry hated to sit there and watch the boy's suffering. With all of these powerful wizards around, couldn't somebody do anything? He neededto help, to do_ something._ He didn't care what his friends thought of his "saving people thing." He couldn't stand by while people were in trouble.

"Maybe...there's only one thing I can think of that will help." Harry raised his wand, aimed, and said, "_Mutatio silex silicis!_"(1)

Toshiro Hitsugaya stiffened. His skin turned smooth and hard, with variegated shades of medium to dark green. Body, clothes, and sword, everything became a solid statue of green granite. The woman who sat with the boy's head in her lap yelped under the sudden heavy weight.

Light flashed. A power like magic but not yanked Harry's wand from his hand. The force struck Harry's chest and sent him flying. He would have hit the deadly green shield had the man not grabbed his robes and stopped his backwards fall. Before the young wizard could blink, a razor-edged blade pressed against the left side of his throat.

Cries of alarm and fear from outside the healing dome went unnoticed.

All gentleness fled from the white-haired man's voice as he hissed, "What did you do?"

"It's...it's a p-petrifying spell...the body...his body is turned to s-s-stone...preserved." Harry hated the stutter in his voice but could not control it. He quaked from head to toe as sharp steel rested directly over his pulsing carotid artery. The slightest wrist movement would slice Harry's throat wide open. "It won't...it won't heal the wounds but it...it will b-buy some time."

The blonde woman's glowing hands moved up and down the marble figure. "I can feel his spiritual energy. It's faint, barely detectable, but it's there."

"It's hard to find, but it's steady," the younger healer, his hands likewise surrounded by a green light, confirmed. "Not weakening any more, not like it was."

The man withdrew the sword from Harry's neck and laid it across his folded legs. He stared at the blade a moment then said with a notable hint of relief in his voice, "Sogyo no Kotowari still senses Hyorinmaru." He looked up to meet Harry's eyes. Doe-brown eyes softened with regret. "I'm sorry. You only meant to help. Did my spell hurt you?"

At the same time, Professor McGonagall stepped up, careful to remain a safe distance from the green dome, and asked, "Mr. Potter, are you alright?"

Wilting with relief (not to mention controlling the urge to either throw up or visit the nearest privy), Harry shook his head, though he couldn't stop himself from rubbing his neck. He answered both queries at the same time. "Sir, Professor, I'm fine. It startled me more than anything."

Reassured, McGonagall smiled at Harry and said, "That was a fine bit of transfiguration work you did, Potter. If the House Cup wasn't already awarded for this school year, it would have earned you 40 points for Gryffindor."

"While he's in this form, we can't heal him," when the blonde woman spoke, everyone's attention returned to the healers, "but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. This is a type of stasis. Hopefully, it will buy us time to consult with the castle's healers, perhaps find a way around the problems we have healing magic-based wounds."

The female healer looked up at the green dome overhead and said, "In his current state, this is neither effective nor necessary." In a breathy whisper, she said, "Lunalyn, seal."

Harry watched in awe as the dome shimmered and flowed like a fountain in reverse, transforming from hilt to point into a delicately etched ladies' short sword with a swan shaped crossguard.

In a shimmer of displaced air, Hermione returned, along with the tattooed warrior and Madam Pomfrey. The man carried Poppy thrown over his right shoulder. Her healer's hat askew, hair in disarray, and uniform disheveled, the mediwitch's face was hyper-flushed from having hung head-down over his back. Judging by her furious diatribe, the hospital matron had clearly not been prepared for the faster-than-apparition travel. She emerged on the school grounds in mid-rant, elbows pounding his back and feet kicking in the air. Her medical bag swung by a strap tangled around her shoulder and neck.

"-not a sack of potatoes to be tossed about hither and yon! Put me down this instant, do you hear?"

"Yeah, yeah. I hear."

The tattooed warrior all but slammed the mediwitch down on her feet. Dizzy from the sudden shift, she stumbled four drunken steps backwards and wobbled a moment before she could regain her balance. He was a tad gentler when releasing Hermione, who'd made the journey sitting in the crook of his left elbow. Arms around his neck for balance, she looked quite comfortable and not at all ready to be released.

"'Mione!" Ron called. He tried to move towards her only to find himself still caught in his mother's embrace. "Are you okay! Did he hurt you!"

"I'm fine, Ron," Hermione replied as she stepped close to the mediwitch in order to see what was happening. "Calm down so the healers can work in peace."

Madam Pomfrey gazed around, taking in the people and the destruction. Her professional gaze automatically cataloged every visible injury and was happy to note very few that would need serious attention. Her eyes widened at the sight of Alastor Moody trapped inside a giant block of polar ice. They practically popped out of her head when she saw Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape close to the main steps, bound and (if Albus' soundlessly moving mouth was any indication) silenced. Her eyes sought the other faculty members, only to find them unrestrained and armed with their wands.

Her expression clearly said, "what is going on?"

"Madam, over here!" Harry called. "We need you here."

Poppy Pomfrey shook herself back to business. She hurried over and knelt beside Harry, where sharp eyes spotted droplets of blood in his hair. She probed his scalp and asked, "Where are you hurt, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm fine, Madam. There was a bubble, a healing dome of some kind. One second I had lumps on my jaw and my head, the next they faded away." Harry pointed to the stone figure. "Please, Madam Pomfrey. He needs your help."

The Hogwarts mediwitch gave his head a final rub, just in case, then knelt next to the buxom woman, opposite the other two healers.

"He's been petrified? How?"

"I did it, Madam Pomfrey," Harry confessed, "with the stone transformation curse. He was slipping away too quickly. He would have died before you got here. It was the only way-"

"I understand, Mr. Potter. If his condition is as grave as you say," Poppy looked for and received confirmation from her counterparts, "you did the right thing." She turned back to the other healers and asked, "What caused his injuries? The man who transported me and Miss Granger mentioned that he was...tortured?"

"Over a period of some four to five days," the willowy woman reported. "As for his injuries, there are the expected contusions, boils, rashes, cuts, slashes, and the like. He has second and third degree burns over 15 percent of his body, and his feet are flayed almost to the bone. Concussion due to repeated blows to the head, possible subdural hematoma. Our scans showed forty-two fractures, mostly in the hands, wrists, ankles, and feet. Thankfully, none of them are compound. They include the zygomatic bones around both eyes with attendant edema and contusion, as well as a shattered nasal bone. Hairline or transverse fractures of the skull, maxilla, both clavicles, sternum, both left and right ulna, and right femur. There are serious ruptures of internal organs and hemorrhaging around the spleen, both kidneys, and liver, as well as a possibly perforated intestine. A number of broken ribs are pressing into the walls of his lungs. Damage to muscles and tendons in his shoulders, arms, and back due to prolonged suspension of his weight. Flagellation of 70 percent of his posterior torso. Acute malnutrition and severe dehydration. The loss of blood is critical. I estimate he's missing half of his fluid volume."

"Half!" Pomfrey reared back. "How is it he's still alive?"

"A miracle, I would say."

Cries of dismay and sorrow rose from the witches and wizards close enough to hear the list of injuries. Word quickly spread to those further away. Voices rose in anger, and curses of the verbal kind were laid upon Dumbledore and his accomplices. Molly Weasley was the loudest of them all, though Nymphadora Tonks was not far behind in volume. Due to her years in the Auror Academy, Tonks outclassed Molly in the variety and color of her insults.

Only Minerva McGonagall's sharp commands prevented the casting of a dozen painful and perhaps disfiguring curses at the two bound men.

Harry shared everyone's disbelief. How...by sweet Merlin's beard...could someone do that to a child?

"Once we cancel the stone transformation," Poppy said, "we must move quickly. Blood replenishing and internal treatment take first priority."

"Healer Pomfrey," the woman said, "there is something you should know. Our people have the ability to...I suppose you would call it 'phase into and out of' an artificial body. The false form absorbs most of the damage during battle and acts as a disguise when necessary, since the form doesn't have to match our natural appearance. To best treat his wounds, we must remove him from his false body. The procedure is dangerous given his current condition. As you said, we must move quickly to start the healing process. Our timing must be precise."

"I understand. We can transport him to the Hospital Wing. There will be more privacy there, and I'll have access to my equipment and potions."

While the healers discussed the best way to move Toshiro, Minerva hesitantly approached the stranger with the white headpieces in his glossy black hair.

"Sir...would it be possible for someone to...well..." She gestured to the ragged block of ice that held Alastor Moody. "As much as he may deserve to stay that way, the sight of him will surely upset the students. Might some of your people be able to thaw him without hurting him?"

()()()()

As most of those who'd participated in the battle made their way through the debris-strewn entry hall, Minerva McGonagall eyed Albus Dumbledore, her expression a blend of disappointment and anger. He met her gaze with equally hot glare, lit from behind by a trace of uncontrolled zeal and a promise of retribution.

Unable to look further upon the man she once considered a dear friend, she turned to the man she'd spoken too earlier. His attention (subtle though it might be) centered on a dark-skinned, purple-haired woman who limped beside him on the right. The woman's left hand dripped blood from wounds where fingernails once existed. Other parts, visible around what looked to be a hastily transfigured wizarding robe, was likewise covered in cuts and bruises.

McGonagall's "inner cat," the part related to her animagus instincts, felt the presence of an unfamiliar alpha feline. The momentary brush of the woman's golden eyes with Minerva's answered the question of whom that alpha might be. The witch shivered and looked away, wrestling with the urge to lie down and bare her belly to the stronger cat.

Hoping to distract herself from her discomfort, Minerva offered, "If you like, we can store Albus and the other two in an unused classroom. We can cast sufficient spells, safeguards, and alarms to keep them quite securely contained."

"Thank you but no," the man answered in a silky, deep voice. "Until the situation with Toshiro Hitsugaya is resolved, I would prefer they remain in our custody."

"I understand."

As the group approached the Great Hall doors, McGonagall reached out and pulled Luna closer to the Great Hall. "Miss Lovegood. A moment if you please."

The train of people followed behind the levitated "statue" that bobbed obediently beneath Madam Pomfrey's raised wand. This mixed group, which included the three prisoners, disappeared down the corridor toward the mediwitch's domain. Three of the faculty and several of the reapers—among them Sigursdottur, Ukitake, Kuchiki and Abarai—stayed behind to hear what the older witch had to say.

When the injured woman tried to join them, the group's leader raised a single eyebrow and said, "Go with the others, Shihoin. Have them treat your wounds."

For a long moment, it looked as though she would fight him on the issue. Eventually she could only sigh and nod. "You're right, Byakuya. Besides, I want to watch over Toshiro."

Once the woman limped back to the end of the procession, McGonagall looked down at Luna and said, "I imagine you'll be wanting breakfast. I'm sure the students who are locked in their dormitories are likewise famished." She looked to the reapers. "I would like to arrange for the house elves to serve breakfast to the students in their common rooms. Also, a meal can be served in the Great Hall for Miss Lovegood and anyone else who wishes to join us."

"Why not bring all the students into the Great Hall?" Ukitake asked.

McGonagall shook her head. "Most of the students were pulled from their beds by the alarms. Having felt and heard this morning's battle, most of them will be understandably upset, especially as they have no idea who attacked the school or why. Activation of the doomsday protocols would have only increased their terror. Less than a week ago, our government reluctantly acknowledged the rebirth of a terrible, dark wizard whom most of us cannot bear to name. The peace we've experienced for fourteen years is shattered, and many fear that the dark, terrifying days of his previous reign will return. The absence of Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape, and the..._apparent_...takeover of Hogwarts by an unknown group of people would cause undue panic. Far better to leave them in their dorms until someone can explain the situation to them."

"A wise precaution," Byakuya Kuchiki agreed, "though it is not necessary to ask our permission to maintain normal operations inside your institution. All we ask is that you offer no threat to any of our party, and make no effort to free the three wizards responsible for our companions' conditions. In return, we will do what we can to facilitate repairs."

"In that case, I will make a school-wide announcement that will hopefully calm their fears." McGonagall tapped her throat with her wand. Her voice carried to every corner of the school. "Attention all students. Hogwarts is safe and secure. All students and faculty are accounted for, and there are no serious injuries. There is, however, substantial damage to the forward exterior and main entry hall of the school. For reasons of safety, it would be best if you remained in your dormitories until the destruction can be assessed and repaired. Breakfast will be served in your common rooms. I will let you know when further news becomes available."

Cancelling the spell, the Deputy Headmistress called out, "Tenky, please come."

A short, grey creature with uncommonly large eyes, floppy ears and thin limbs, dressed in a neat tea towel with the school crest, appeared with a sharp crack. Every reaper tensed and reached for their weapons. The little elf squeaked and collapsed into a defensive ball, spindly arms covering its bald head.

"It's quite alright," Luna said, looking around at the others. "There's no danger. This is Tenky. He's the house elf in charge of the Hogwarts kitchen. He gives me coconut biscuits from time to time. House elves like him perform the cooking, cleaning, and general work around the castle."

The little elf stared around in fear. Once the strangers' hands moved away from their weapons, he slowly unfolded and stood up, though he clung tight to Luna's robes.

"Tenky," McGonagall ordered, "please arrange for breakfast to be served to the students in all four common rooms. Also, set up a meal in the Great Hall for the faculty and our visitors. Oh, and be sure to take plenty of food to the hospital wing. Considering the reception you received here, it might be wise to move...discreetly."

"Will do this, Missy Gongal." Tenky released Luna's robe in order to wring the hem of his tea towel. "Missy Gongal, the house elves be watching what has happened at Hogwarts. We hasn't been liking the horrible things Headmastry Dubbldore has done. Might maybe we should...oh, Tenky doesn't know how to say..."

Luna knelt beside him and patted his back. "It's fine, Tenky. Just speak."

The elf fretted a few more seconds before gathering his courage. "Missy Gongal, the Headmastry has his own elf. Babby is mute, Missy Gongal, but she still be bounded to the Headmastry. Already asked her to do horrible things, he has. Poor Babby be crying for days and days. I know the Headmastry is all tied up. He gots no wand and can'ts talk now, but he mebbe talk later. He could order Babby to do things, hurts people or somelike. Babby not want to but would have no choice. He be a bad wizard, but he still be Hogwarts Headmastry. Could order all elves to do anything."

"You're right, Tenky," Minerva said. "I'd quite forgotten about Babby. Is there any way for the other elves to keep her safe and comfortable but unavailable should Albus call for her?"

Tenky bobbed his head hard enough to flap his ears. "Can do, Missy Gongal, if yous orders us to."

"Consider yourself so ordered. I don't quite know how, but I will do what I can to protect the remaining house elves."

"Thank you, Missy Gongal."

The elf bowed low enough to touch his long nose to his knees then vanished with a sharp crack. Moments later, a large meal appeared on the Ravenclaw house table in the Great Hall.

()()()()

Harry Potter followed the group headed for the hospital wing, though he wasn't quite sure how he could help. Flanked by Ron and Hermione, he hurried after the healers and their floating patient. Three of the newcomers, who'd been carrying the prisoners like lumpy sacks over their shoulders, dropped them without care into the farthest corner of the room. Two men remained on guard, their swords out and ready should any of the three offenders try to escape.

No one noticed or cared when three students slipped into a corner of the room to watch the proceedings.

Four of the strangers maneuvered the heavy granite figure onto a hospital bed then moved back, allowing the matron to release the levitation spell. The mattress squashed and the bedsprings groaned under the stone figure's weight. By some quirk of fate, they chose the same bed Harry usually occupied during his frequent hospital stays.

The two elder healers stood at the bedside, while the younger one cajoled a dark-skinned woman onto one of the other cots. Everyone else spread out around the large room.

"Since we can't call each other 'hey you' forever," the man in the floral robes said, "I suppose introductions are in order. I am Shunsui Kyoraku."

Harry listened as everyone exchanged names until it came his turn. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter." He waited for the usual eye-flicks toward his scar and was shocked when his name drew no added attention. Who in the wizarding world _didn't_ know him as the Boy-Who-Lived?

_This whole thing, this entire week, has been so...surreal. It's been one steep fall after another. I feel...raw, maybe. Angry. Yes, definitely angry. And guilty. It's like a giant weight on my shoulders._

_Sirius. If only I could talk to you. Even if you didn't know the answers to my problems, you'd look at everything with an eye towards a prank. That alone would cheer me up. But I can't talk to you, can I. You're gone. Now...after today, what little faith I had in Dumbledore...which Merlin knows wasn't a lot...is dead, too. No one who can do...THAT...can honestly call himself "light."_

"Before we release the petrification spell and remove Toshiro Hitsugaya from his false body," Healer DuLay said, "we should prepare a strategy of treatment."

"Agreed." Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Though it's hard to tell the extent of his injuries while he's petrified, you've given me a fair idea of what to expect."

The healers fell into a rapid-fire exchange of medical jargon that went straight over Harry's head. To occupy himself, he looked at the various groupings of people. During the introductions, Ron had joined his parents on a bed along the far wall, third from the main doors. Hermione and the three Weasleys whispered amongst themselves—_probably telling each other what happened this morning._ McGonagall and some of the faculty settled matters inside the castle, while Hagrid, Flitwick and Sprout worked to repair some of the exterior damage. The remaining faculty mixed with members of the Order. Like the Weasleys, they talked softly amongst themselves.

The newcomers were split into three groups—one, the healers; two, those intent on guarding their bound and silenced prisoners; and three, those spaced around the room and before the doors.

_Watching us and protecting the healers, most likely_, Harry thought._ There were more of them outside. They're likely patrolling in case the fighting breaks out again. Maybe they're helping to fix the castle and grounds._

Healer Yamada stood beside another bed, his glowing hands encased in gloves as he wrapped bandages around the fingers of Yoruichi Shihoin's left hand. The dusky-skinned, purple-haired woman was barefoot but wore loose, plain black robes, most likely transfigured for her by one of the faculty. She sat with her right knee raised, heel buried in the edge of the mattress. The pose left a _lot_ of leg for anyone to view. Judging by the quantity of visible skin above and below the belt, Harry didn't think she wore anything _other_ than the loose robe.

"Alright there, Harry?"

The boy looked up to find Remus Lupin at his side. "I'm fine, sir."

"You took a rather nasty knock to the head when Snape stunned you. Are you certain-"

"I'm not hurt," Harry insisted. "That dome helped speed the healing. Really, I'm fine."

Remus squeezed his shoulder once then moved to stand beside Tonks and Shacklebolt. With nothing better to do, Harry found himself beside Healer Yamada, watching as he finished wrapping Yoruichi's left hand. The woman wasn't hurt nearly as bad as the boy, though the wounds she did have looked very painful. All of the fingernails on her left hand were missing. Numerous scratches and shallow cuts along her arms and legs.

Feeling the need to do something besides stand around, Harry thought to himself, _Maybe I can take a little of the work off the healers, free them to take care of the boy. _He drew his wand, aimed it at a deep slash along her right thigh, and cast a soft, "Episkey."

The cut sealed itself quite nicely. He had a single moment to feel proud that he'd helped someone before Shihoin's unbandaged hand snapped around his wrist.

Harry pulled away but found his wand hand locked in an unbreakable grip. "Hey, let go!"

"How did you do that?" Yoruichi demanded.

"Do what?"

Yamada stared, wide-eyed, at the healed area of Yoruichi's leg then added his own demand. "How did you heal her so easily?"

"It's a simple enough spell," Harry answered, all the while wondering what had upset them. "Any student over third year can cast it."

"No," Shihoin shook her head, "I mean...how did you make it work on _me_?"

Harry spoke as though to a child. "I pointed my wand, did a little flick of the tip, and said the magic word, episkey. Presto, no more cut."

"You don't understand, do you," Hanataro murmured, his eyes growing wider by the second. "You don't understand..." His voice rose to a near-shout. "DuLay-_taicho_! This boy! He healed a cut on Yoruichi-_sama's_ leg!"

"This is a hospital wing, young man," Madam Pomfrey scolded. "Kindly keep your voice down."

"No, _sumimasen_, please listen," the younger healer demanded. "He healed her injury with no effort at all!"

Anissina DuLay turned and stared, first at Hanataro then Yoruichi then Harry. "You healed a wound with a spell?"

"What's all the fuss about?" Harry snapped, in something of a snit and very uncomfortable at being the center of everyone's attention, especially since he didn't know why. He yanked his arm free and stepped back. "It wasn't that serious. A simple cut, really. Why is everyone staring at me like I performed some sort of miracle?"

The Weasleys and Hermione stopped talking with each other and tensely watched the drama. Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt and the remaining magic users did the same. The reapers focused on him like a laser. Several of them had stepped forward to see what he had done.

Daniel Gilbreathe moved to Harry's side, laid a hand against his back, and said, "Because you did, Harry. Our biggest problem is treating injuries caused by this new type of magic. Our two methods of enchantment are similar in that we channel our powers through an object—you use a wand while we use bladed weapons—but they conflict with one another when it comes to treating injuries. Healers from both sides have met resistance, yet with one spell, you healed a wound with no apparent effort."

DuLay left the other bed and hurried over to Harry. "I must see for myself. We will test this ability."

Rangiku Matsumoto asked, "How?"

"Young man...Harry, is it?" The young wizard gulped and nodded. _She's so beautiful, like something straight out of Lord of the Rings. A high elf, maybe Galadriel herself._ "My name is Anissina DuLay. I serve as the main healer for my people. Harry, there is a partially healed wound on this woman's shoulder that has resisted our efforts. It was caused by some type of major cutting curse. Can you use your magic as you just did?"

All male thoughts regarding the woman's ethereal beauty fled from his mind. "Me? I'm not a healer. Madam Pomfrey-"

Rangiku leaned close and with tearful eyes pleaded, "Please try. If it helps me, your ability might be the one thing that can save _him_."

Harry swallowed, shook, and steadied himself. Matsumoto shared a pregnant look with Healer DuLay then slid the pink scarf and neckline of her _shihakusho_ to one side, baring the bandaged shoulder. The move came perilously close to showing the teenage boy far more than his hormone level could withstand.

_I will not look. I will not look. I'm supposed to heal her shoulder, not look at...oh Merlin!_

"_Ahno_—the wound is up here."

Face flaming, Harry returned his attention to the woman's right shoulder. While his eyes had been otherwise occupied, someone had removed the bandage. A vicious red slash, barely closed, marred her skin near the joint of her neck and shoulder. The cutting curse had ripped through flesh and muscle, leaving behind an eight-inch gash that started at her collarbone, moved over the hump of her shoulder and out the back side.

_It's not a fresh injury but at the time, it must have been horrific,_ Harry reckoned. _Can I really finish healing something like this?_

Madam Pomfrey's voice cut through his doubting thoughts. "To make this a viable test, perhaps I should attempt to heal it first. This way, we can gauge whether Mr. Potter's abilities are outside of the norm."

"Yes, a comparison would be best," Healer DuLay agreed.

Madam Pomfrey cast the "episkey" with little measurable result. The flesh pinked slightly and a small portion of the scar lightened a few shades, but the overall wound remained unaffected.

"Now you try, Mr. Potter," the matron said. "Cast 'episkey' as you did before."

Though unable to see how he could do what the experienced mediwitch could not, Harry nevertheless steadied his wand and incanted, "Episkey_._"

To everyone's surprise, including Harry's, the inflammation subsided, the flesh pinked, and the wound faded to a pale white line. A barely healed injury became a faint scar that appeared to be years, even decades, old.

"It's healed!" Rangiku rubbed the area and grinned. She rotated her arm in its socket to test her range of motion, which had the added benefit of pushing the neckline of her _shihakusho_ back into place. "The pain is gone. It's like I was never wounded."

"Harry," Madam Pomfrey caught the Gryffindor fifth-year by the arm and pulled him over to the bed, "you're going to help us save this boy's life."

"I'm _WHAT?_"

()()()()

No sooner had Luna and the reapers entered the Hospital wing and passed the scarcely touched buffet set up by the house elves than the fourth-year Ravenclaw felt the strength flow from her body.

"Oh dear." She yawned three times before she could speak further. "It seems (yawn) as though the extra energy (sigh) has worn offffff."

"I'm not surprised," Jushiro Ukitake smiled to her. "Hanataro did warn you this would happen. You've been awake a long time. You've eaten a hearty meal, so why don't you lie down and catch up on your sleep?"

Luna fought the urge to collapse into slumber. She wanted desperately to see, to know what was happening. For some reason, Harry stood tight in with the healers, his wand raised as though to cast a spell on the woman with the strawberry blonde hair, pink scarf, and exceptionally large female protrusions. One of which seemed to be hanging _way_ out of her top.

_But...Harry's not a healer. Is he? Dear me, I'm too tired to remember whether he is or he isn't. I should make some comment about this being an inappropriate time for a sexual education experience, but I can't seem to gather the energy to do so. Most unlike me, I must say._

Ukitake rested his arm across Luna's back and guided her to the nearest bed. Hands on both of her shoulders, he tilted her over until her head rested on the pillow. He lifted her feet long enough to remove her shoes, careful not to jar her bandaged foot, and lifted her legs onto the bed. When he spoke, his voice was as tender as his smile, filled with comfort.

"It's alright, Luna. You can sleep now."

"The...Headmaster..."

"Rest easy. No one will interfere with the healers or threaten any of us, least of all Albus Dumbledore. We will guard your sleep."

"Not worried...for me...Harry..."

"I give you my word," Ukitake whispered as he stroked Luna's hair much like a caring father would do. "I will keep everyone safe. You, your friends, everyone in this school will be protected."

"Mmmmm, 'kaythn. I'lljussleeeeepnww."

Luna fell into dreams before feeling the blankets laid over and tucked around her.

()()()()

Harry Potter hated to babble. It made him sound too much like Hermione when she fixated on a subject. Even so, there were times when babbling seemed the only way to express his feelings. This was one such time.

"Madam, you can't mean...I don't know how...I don't know the first thing about...Tell me you're joking!"

"No, Mr. Potter," the matron replied, "I am not joking. You seem to be the only wizard around who can perform any sort of successful healing spell on these people."

"What am I supposed to do? Episkey and ferula are the only true healing spells I know. I don't understand everything you've said about his injuries, but I'm pretty sure they need more than a sealing spell and a clean plaster."

Twin gold braids swinging ahead of her slender body, Healer DuLay moved close and reached out. "Let me hold your hands for a moment."

Harry seriously considered running, to the point of gauging the distance to the door. A single glance at the green marble figure of a young boy holding a long, thin, curved sword gave him pause.

_Is what Madam Pomfrey said true? Is there really a way that I can help him? Watching this child fade away one ragged breath at a time was nearly the worst thing I've ever experienced, beat only by Sirius falling through the Veil. I couldn't save Sirius but...if it's true, and I CAN help...I'd better gather up my Gryffindor courage and do what I can._

He tucked away his wand and laid both fists into the beautiful healer's outstretched palms. A soft green glow surrounded their joined hands.

"Can you feel my energy, Harry?" she asked. "Close your eyes and stretch out with your magic."

Harry couldn't help but mutter, "Use the Force, Luke."

Hermione and several of the reapers laughed at the Star Wars reference, but the healer remained focused.

"Can you feel it?"

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on his hands. Elusive warmth flowed across his skin. It tingled and teased just beyond his understanding. Narrowing his focus to the index finger of his right hand, the connection became clearer, more recognizable. He'd felt something like it while locked in Gryffindor Tower during the battle—the heavy pressure, the pulses, the rising and falling waves of energy. What he'd felt during the battle was chaotic, wild, hard, and negative. The power in her hands, however, was soft, warm, directed, and positive.

_It's the same energy used for different purposes,_ Harry realized, _and it's not that different from my magical core._

Without meaning to, Harry connected the two power sources. For one second, their joined hands cast off a riot of red and orange sparks. The air carried a distinct hint of ozone, like could be found directly after a lightning strike. The healer gasped and jerked but did not release his hands.

"I feel it," Harry whispered. "Now what do I do?"

DuLay, a delighted smile on her face, instructed, "Hold onto that connection. Practice calling it forth and sending it back. While you're doing that, we will separate Toshiro from his artificial body. Madam Pomfrey, the instant he completely emerges and we sever the connection, please move the husk to the next bed. We will lower him and begin healing as we discussed earlier. Would you guide Harry's magic?"

"Wait," Madam Pomfrey said. "It's safe to assume the boy will be as resistant to potions as he is to magical healing." The mediwitch gathered up two bottles of blood replenisher and held them out to Harry. "Mr. Potter, do you think you can add this special connection you have to these potions?"

Harry accepted the phials, one in each glowing hand. Enough energy suffused the liquid within for the light to leak out around the ceramic stopper. He handed the containers back to Poppy and said, "I think that's what you want."

With a look of renewed determination, Madam Pomfrey handed over phial after bottle after salve pot. Each received the same flush of magic/other energy.

"Very good." With all of the necessary brews and unguents converted for use, the hospital matron came to stand directly beside Harry. "Wand at the ready, Mr. Potter. It's time to begin."

Harry cast one last, desperate look around at the assembly of witches, wizards, and visitors in the room. Everyone watched the proceedings with varying degrees of interest. Most of the visitors seemed especially keen on watching him, although the stoic nobleman named Kuchiki kept his expression so passive, it was impossible to know what he was thinking. Ron and Hermione looked at him with a mixture of shock and concern, and maybe a bit of disbelief. He was too nervous to even smile at them.

"Armand, Jushiro," Anissina called, "we could use your help with the separation."

"Of course."

"_Oui._"

Madam Pomfrey looked to those participating and verified, "Is everyone ready?" Receiving positives from everyone except Harry (who was too nervous to respond), the mediwitch guided Harry's wand hand and leveled the holly rod at the green statue. "Now, Harry. Cancel the spell."

"Finite Incantatem!"

The instant the marble effect faded away, the two healers, Ukitake, and Rousseau pushed their power into the boy's body. It began as a ghostly shadow, something like a photographic afterimage, both copy and original occupying the same space. The fainter of the two rose up a fraction at a time, bringing the sword with it. The higher it rose, the more substantial the second form became, until they formed two separate bodies. A fragile connection, like faint tendrils of white smoke, connected them. A sharp cut from Mr. Rousseau's stiffened fingers severed the final link between real and fake bodies.

The entire extraction took only three to five seconds. To Harry, it felt like a lifetime.

Madam Pomfrey cast a levitation spell that quickly transferred the empty husk to the adjoining bed. The instant this was done, the others lowered Toshiro into place. Ukitake moved the sword from atop the boy to beside him, still touching but out of the healers' way. Their parts done, Ukitake and Rousseau backed away and left the rest to the professionals.

The return of the boy's labored, raspy breathing both relieved and alarmed Harry.

Jushiro tried to pull Rangiku away with him. She vehemently refused to move more than two steps away, basically just far enough to be out of the healers' way.

"Blood replenishing is top priority for us, Mr. Potter," the matron instructed.

She poured a small bit of the first phial's contents into Toshiro's mouth and massaged his throat, repeating the movement until the container was empty. While she worked to get vital potions into the patient's system, the other healers hurried about their own tasks, treating burns and deep lacerations.

"From what Healer DuLay tells me," Poppy said to Harry, "their healing powers have limited effects on internal injuries. Their strength lies in bolstering the patient's own immune system and power centers. When both are running efficiently, their own internal power core helps to boost healing. They usually rely on more muggle-type methods of ordinary wound repair. In this case, we have neither the equipment nor the time for that approach. You and I, Mr. Potter, will concentrate on repairing the internal injuries and leave the broken bones and outer wounds to the others."

"You'll have to show me what to do but...I'm ready."

"Now that we've done what we can to increase his blood volume," Madam Pomfrey said as she set the third empty bottle of replenisher on the side table, "we must facilitate his breathing. The broken bones in his nose and face are a hindrance to that. After those are repaired, we'll deal with the bleeding inside of his skull."

Poppy molded her hand around Harry's and guided his wand. Harry repeated the incantations as closely as he could and let the hospital matron perform the proper swirls, stabs, swishes, and flicks.

Over the next twenty minutes of intense spellcasting, Harry learned more about emergency trauma care than he'd ever expected or wanted to know, even with the threat of a war with Voldemort looming on the horizon. Once they'd repaired the small bones in the boy's face, they moved on to areas of serious internal hemorrhaging, starting with his skull.

The deeper into the body he had to go, the more energy Harry must push into the spell. He often had to repeat a casting two or three times before achieving the specific task. With no time for rest and no opportunity to recharge his core, Harry found it harder and harder to shove the necessary magic/other energy into each successive healing. The multiple failed attempts sapped his strength even more than the successes.

Sweat soaked through his robes and burned his eyes. An exhausted tremble in his hands made precise wand movements difficult, even with Madam Pomfrey's guidance.

_Damn it, I won't give up. There's still too much to do. We can't stop just because I'm too weak. I have to keep going._

()()()()

"So that's the kid's story, huh," Ichigo Kurosaki muttered. "That's pretty lousy, growing up without _any_ parents..."

From their place next to Luna's bed, Renji Abarai, Jushiro Ukitake and Shunsui Kyoraku had just finished explaining what they knew of the wizarding world, specifically Harry's place in it, to Ichigo. In addition to speaking softly and in Japanese, Ukitake had erected a small kido sphere, similar to a magic-user's privacy charm. Byakuya Kuchiki also stood inside the affected area. He listened but did not participate in the discussion.

Renji leaned around to stare directly into his friend's face. "Iiiiiichigo, I know that look. What are you thinking?"

"Nothin' much. Just mulling things around in my head."

"Stop that. You'll hurt yourself."

Ukitake cut off the budding back-and-forth argument by asking, "What has caught your attention, Kurosaki? Other than the novelty of this entirely new world."

"I can't say just yet. I'm still thinking it through." Ichigo nodded to the healers. "The kid's about ready to fall down."

Ukitake nodded. "Perhaps we're asking too much of him. This must be very new and very frightening for him."

"Hell, if he's had to grow up alone, I'd say he's tough enough to handle it," Ichigo countered. "He just needs more juice."

Ukitake blinked and frowned. "'Juice'?"

Instead of answering directly, Ichigo said, "I wanna try something."

"Kurosaki, what-"

Both Ukitake and Kyoraku reached out but neither was fast enough to stop the substitute shinigami from leaving their kido-sphere and crossing the room. As Ukitake released the privacy bubble, Kuchiki muttered something about arrogant brats who think they must solve every problem. Ichigo threw a sneer/smile over his shoulder and kept walking. He stopped directly behind Harry Potter and studied the smaller teenager.

"I...I can't...keep this up...much longer," Harry rasped. His entire body quaked with the strain. "Please. Hurry."

"Hey, Harry," Ichigo spoke very softly so as not to startle the young wizard too badly. "I'm Ichigo. I have an idea I wanna try. I'm going to put my hands on your shoulders, okay?"

"Why?"

"I think I can give you a jump-start."

"O...okay."

Hanataro glanced across the bed towards the orange-haired teen. "Kurosaki-_san_, what are you doing?"

"I did something like this with Uryu Ishida once, a long time ago, although this situation's a little different."

Ichigo closed his eyes and focused inwards, close to but not quite to the inner mindscape he shared with Zangetsu. Gathering his spiritual energy, he fed it to hands that glowed with red and black tufts of power. Instead of releasing the energy towards a target, he rested both palms on the Potter boy's narrow shoulders.

Harry spasmed. His eyes flew wide open and his breath caught. Color rushed to his face.

"Harry!" Madam Pomfrey called in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"Ahh. Nothing. N-nothing's wrong. Whoa! It's like I'm hooked up to the world's strongest car battery."

Most of the wizards and many of the reapers stared at one another in confusion, but a few, including Hanataro, understood. The junior healer translated, "He's supplying _reiatsu_ energy to Potter-_san._"

The elder healers nodded their understanding and, along with Hanataro, renewed their efforts.

A crackling, slithering sound behind him made Ichigo turn, though he never slacked off on the power feed to Harry. The damaged gigai, pushed far past its limits, disintegrated into its base ingredients. A light breeze from an open window raised a small cloud of multicolored dust. As the gigai disintegrated, most of the remaining magic-users made various noises, most of either disgust or awe, punctuated by a rather loud, "Wicked!" by Ron Weasley. Only Harry and Madam Pomfrey paid it no mind at all.

Ichigo shivered and looked away. Due to the gigai's identical appearance to Hitsugaya, its collapse was intensely unnerving.

"We're almost there, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "Run the diagnostic charm once more. Let's see what more can be done."

With Ichigo supplying additional spirit energy to Harry, the final deep healings were completed within ten minutes. The lack of any further internal repairs left Harry in a vague state of confusion. One thing both teens noted with relief: Toshiro's breathing no longer sounded labored or pained. It was still shallow, but was much stronger than before.

"There's still a tremendous amount of healing and repair left to do," Anissina DuLay breathed out and dabbed her sleeve against her sweaty forehead, "but I believe we can say he is out of immediate danger. Thanks to you, Harry Potter."

"Yes," Rangiku cried earnestly, as her hands resumed their gentle stroking of the boy captain's head and crown of dirty white hair. "Thank you so much for your help. You have no idea how much this means to me—to all of us!"

Moved beyond words, Harry tried to smile, but the instant Ichigo released his shoulders, every drop of energy siphoned away. He never felt Kurosaki catch him as he slid toward the floor.

()()()()

Albus Dumbledore fumed. How could his carefully crafted plans have gone so horribly wrong? Bound by the invaders' powerful bands and silenced by magic—_How could Minerva betray me this way!_—he could do nothing but watch events unfold from his place in the far corner of the hospital wing.

_How could they treat me with such disrespect? Don't they know who I am? At the very least, they should allow someone of my age and station to sit in a chair rather than on the cold, stone floor._

He ignored the struggles of Severus Snape and Alastor Moody. Both men lay nearby, likewise restrained and silenced. He did edge away from Moody; the ex-auror's body, though thawed, still radiated an uncomfortable chill.

Watching them separate the spirit from the homunculus had been fascinating. He found the way the artificial body disintegrated to be particularly riveting. If only he could obtain a sample for study. The advancements in alchemy, the potential use of artificial bodies to absorb the souls of terminally ill patients, their use in dangerous occupations, as spies, or on the battlefield—the possibilities were endless! If only they would free him to do the work that would benefit all wizardkind, but no! With their narrow views and small minds, they couldn't see the great things only he could accomplish.

A fragment of doubt crept into his mind.

_Could I have been wrong? Did I choose the incorrect path? Not only with these creatures, but with everything I've done for the last twenty or more years. It would seem so, considering the current circumstances, yet...Fawkes, dear Fawkes, where are you? Why have you abandoned me? I look back and can see nothing I could change. Nothing I WOULD change. Everything I did, I did for the benefit of everyone. There was no evil intent, no pleasure gained. It simply...needed to happen._

He listened to the creatures' attempts to make themselves out to be nothing more than a previously unknown branch of magic, one similar to but not exactly like their own. If he had a voice, Dumbledore would have snarled in ridicule. Did they take wizards for fools? Well, some wizards might be, given the way McGonagall, Lupin, Pomfrey, and the others accepted their explanations without question. He, Dumbledore, knew better. His studies of the homunculus and its occupying spirit were decisive: whatever their claims, these creatures were in no way purely human. They had human forms and exchanged human speech (though some of their names were Asian in origin). They had forms solid enough to receive an injury but responded uncharacteristically to magic, with enough variance to prove his theory.

Their ability to shift into and out of a false body was proof enough for him. Why did the others not see it?

_They can't hold me forever,_ Dumbledore ranted in the privacy of his own mind, unknowing and uncaring of the manic swirl behind his eyes. _They will pay for hindering the greater good. I will get free, and everyone will see the truth. I'll save some of the creatures for study, maintain a few spares in case one or two should die during the examinations, but I will destroy the rest. It will mean obliviating most of the Hogwarts staff and members of the Order, but the end result will be worth the stain on my soul. Thank Merlin none of the students, other than that damnable Golden Trio, saw anything._

_If it means the defeat of Voldemort and the saving of the wizarding world, I gladly take any sins upon myself. I will do what's necessary._

The old wizard's gaze fell on Harry Potter. His rage found another outlet.

_That boy. Ingrate. Stubborn. Unappreciative of all I've done for him. I knew he would be a problem as he grew older, but I thought the Dursleys would keep him subdued long enough to do what was required of him. I need the boy to be malleable, flexible, willing to follow my lead. It's the only way to take down the Dark Lord. It is Harry's destiny, just as it is mine to protect the world from the next evil wizard. The dark taint on Harry's soul will soon take him over, if it hasn't already. I must be ready to do what I must, for the greater good!_

_And now this...this...special affinity he has for healing? For doing what neither Severus nor I could do? How can that be? How can he accomplish something that a wizard of my caliber cannot? It makes no sense. It must be...yes, it's all a lie. A trick to deceive us and steal Harry away. They want him for their own selfish purposes. They want the credit for taking down the Dark Lord, and they'll use Harry to get it. This has all been some sort of elaborate scheme from the very beginning, starting with Severus witnessing the bizarre fight._

Why didn't he see it before? How smoothly the events unfolded. How fortunate for them to glimpse a different power and to have it fall so easily into their hands. Looking back, the entire scenario screamed of a conspiracy to infiltrate Hogwarts. Through guile and deceit, they made themselves out to be the heroes—the injured party worthy of sympathy—and himself the villain.

_They think me beaten, my teeth pulled. I must wait and plan. I haven't lost. Not yet. I WILL regain control of Hogwarts, the faculty, the Order, and most important of all, HARRY POTTER._


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

**A/N: I sincerely apologize for the late posting of this chapter. My nine year old desktop PC stumbled along, fought the reins, and stubbornly refused to join the race. This allowed my laptop to gallop into the lead and cross the finish line first. The problem is: pudgy fingers and a flat laptop keyboard are non-mixy things. For the LIFE of me, I could not type correctly. Let's put it this way: "Hyorinmaru" came out as "J7prunmTU."**

**Add to that organizing seven lectures (including the major annual one) and an horrendous start of summer/fall registration overrides at the uni where I work, and there you have it. A frustrated, exhausted and overwhelmed, Recovering-From-The-Bug-From-H3ll fanfic writer who wants to do this pivotal chapter justice.**

**For those of you who read the early posting of Chapter 26, I have corrected a few typos and misspellings that kind reviewers pointed out to me. So that you don't have to go back and read the chapter again, the main changes were: 1) I had Kyoraku asking about allowing the children into the Great Hall when the man was actually in the hospital wing. It should have been Ukitake asking the question. 2) I had Ichigo hearing Byakuya's comment while Kuchiki was still inside a kido privacy sphere. 3) I misspelled Episkey. All of these things are corrected.**

**RotFH is about 55-60 percent complete. We have a lot of Harry/Toshiro/Ichigo interaction yet to go. However, the main focus of the story will now shift to Harry's interactions with the Reapers. Have no fear—Toshiro and Ichigo will be a large part of Harry's life.**

**Oh. As an apology for taking so long...this chapter is over 10,000 words long. Enjoy.**

"Rangiku Matsumoto, if you don't stop finger-combing my hair, the instant we get home, I will chain you to your desk and give you every scrap of division paperwork I can find, all the way down to who is assigned to privy detail. And I won't let you out for at least one hundred years."

"Awwww, _Taicho_," Matsumoto whined, genuine hurt in her eyes, "I'm only reassuring myself that you're finally safe."

Toshiro Hitsugaya grumbled under his breath but gave up trying to stop the annoying petting. Warm mental laughter from Hyorinmaru did nothing to calm the small captain's temper. Still, the fact that he could once again connect to his zanpakuto eased much of his frustration.

_My master,_ the zanpakuto spirit said, his mental voice soothing despite its deep timbre. _Your friends suffered greatly this past week as they searched for any sign of you, all the while worried, frustrated and pressed for time. Over that lay the demand for secrecy. They wanted nothing more than to rush in and yank you away from those who hurt you. The need to hide the existence of reapers and the Seven Heavens forbade that._

_No one has said anything,_ Toshiro thought back,_ but knowing Yamamoto-soutaicho as I do, he no doubt issued an 'executive order.' If they couldn't rescue me, they should kill me. If he didn't, I'll stab your blade into my foot._

Hyorinmaru's silence was answer enough.

With nothing better to do, still weak, his body aching from head to toe from not-yet-fully-healed injuries, Toshiro looked around at the strange furnishings and bizarre mish-mash of people. Bright sunlight poured through high windows. The angle and brightness made him think it was between four and five o'clock in the afternoon.

He was in a medical area of some sort. They'd clothed him in unfamiliar, Western-style pajamas. Despite their being scratchy and uncomfortable, he was grateful to be covered in clean clothing once again. He looked to his right-side table, at the neatly folded Captain's uniform. The witch named McGonagall had found them in the Headmaster's office and had brought them to him, cleaned and repaired. Everything seemed to be there—white shitagi, black kosode and hakama, a white obi, a pair of white tabi, and a pair of waraji. On top of everything, his captain's haori lay folded and waiting.

To Toshiro Hitsugaya, these items represented his freedom. When he wore them once more, he would no longer be a helpless captive. He would be Toshiro Hitsugaya, proud bearer of Hyorinmaru, a powerful shinigami, and captain of Squad 10 of the _Gotei 13_.

The beds were familiar enough, though the remaining furnishings and equipment were medieval compared to what Unohana-_taicho_ used back home. While clean and well cared-for, the room lacked the more familiar, sterilized atmosphere of a Seireitei treatment facility. The moving pictures hanging on several walls were unusual, but he'd seen stranger things.

As for people, Soul Society shinigami and Avalonian grim reapers stood alongside witches and wizards of all ages. A few of each were gathered around a side table loaded with enough food to make his long-empty stomach tighten in hunger. Every healer had fallen onto the closest available bed and were all sound asleep—no small wonder, considering how hard they must have worked to save his life. The Lovegood girl sat on the next bed over, watching the young wizard, Harry Potter, struggle his way out of a deep sleep.

Most of the magic folk moved unrestrained around the room. Only three remained bound and guarded, Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape among them. Raw hatred and no small amount of fear tightened Toshiro's chest. He also recognized the scarred, peg-legged wizard as one of those who'd captured him in London.

Rangiku followed his gaze. She caught the small shudder and the white-knuckled hold on Hyorinmaru's grip. The minute lowering of his skin temperature under her fingers was another telltale sign. Her hand settled on his shoulder and gently squeezed.

She whispered loud enough for no one but Hitsugaya to hear. "_Taicho_. You're safe now. Until you're strong enough to protect yourself, we'll be here for you. None of them will hurt you ever again."

"Rangiku..." A dozen unexpressed emotions blocked his throat.

The Squad 10 lieutenant smiled. Soft blue eyes warmed even as they shone with unshed tears.

"You're welcome, my dear captain."

()()()()

A fuzzy memory tickled Harry into the first realms of wakefulness. His muscles twinged with a ghostly recollection of power. It flowed from, into and through him. He tried to ignore the memory, told it to go away. He felt comfortable and safe, and really did not want to face the world, especially since the fuzzy memory wouldn't tell him why he was so reluctant.

"Harry?" A breezy voice echoed from far away. "You can wake up now."

His dream of remaining ignorant of the world faded away. Harry recognized the hard mattress and starched sheets. He must be in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's tender mercies. Scents spoke of various things—potions, ointments...food? Other odors were not so familiar—the faint, sharp tang of recently-warmed metals, women's perfume, and others that he couldn't identify. The golden glow beyond his eyelids didn't flicker like torches, which left only daylight.

Sounds rushed in too quickly, creating a pulsing ache inside his head. Voices murmured in quiet conversation, some in a language that he couldn't understand. Curious, he reconnected with his surroundings and forced his eyelids to rise.

Harry blinked against the brightness of the afternoon sun through the hospital wing's western windows. To his right, Luna sat on the edge of her own bed, her crossed ankles and bare feet swinging lazily forwards and back.

"Luna? Why are you here?"

"I'm afraid I exerted myself most thoroughly over the last few days," she said. "My body wasn't happy with me. Still isn't, actually. I woke up much sooner than the healers felt I would...or should. Still, I'm awake now, and I suppose there's no help for it. I'll just have to stay that way until I'm sleepy again."

The Gryffindor fifth year raised himself onto one elbow to see her better and asked, "You're not hurt?"

"No. Just tired."

Luna studied him with more awareness than he'd ever seen in the fourth year Ravenclaw. Something about her undivided attention unnerved him. Harry couldn't meet her eyes. He stared at the wrinkles in his bed sheets and pretended to smooth them out.

"You're worried about something." Luna leaned forward and tilted her head to see Harry's downturned face. He allowed himself a tiny bit of amusement—her posture was distinctly owl-like. "Tell me? Maybe I can help. I'm good at that, you know."

Had an adult asked him that question, even Ron or (heaven forbid) Hermione, he would refuse to answer, brush them off with excuses, or fool them with a positive, untroubled façade. The adults would either not understand his anxieties or they wouldn't care. Ron might grouse and complain about how Harry's lot was still better than his own, and Hermione would slip into what she saw as a helpful, supportive lecture complete with facts, diagnoses, recommendations, and platitudes that, unchecked, might run for hours.

He loved his best friends. He would die for them, but they could be blind to his needs at times.

_And yet,_ he thought most reluctantly, _a girl I've known for less than a year takes one look at me and knows something's wrong. I don't care what kind of disconnected face Luna Lovegood shows the world or what imaginary creatures she claims to see. She notices a lot more than anyone gives her credit for. Including me._

"Harry? Have the nargles invaded?"

His huffing chuckle was as much laughter at himself as it was at Luna. "No. No nargles here." The humor flowed away. Harry had no intentions of burdening the younger girl with his troubles, yet the words poured forth before he could stop them. "It's everything that's happened. I can't accept what I've seen. What I've done. What I know. Some of it I understand. But other things ... like how I can heal wounds. How I can use the strangers' magic when stronger wizards can't."

Harry wrung his hands together to still their trembling. "I can't describe the rush. So much raw energy! I don't know the first thing about how to use it. No one in the wizarding world can teach me, but there'll be plenty who'll want it for themselves." Harry waved toward the nearest wall to indicate the school's exterior. "You saw the damage outside. The grounds are so churned up, you can't walk three feet without falling into a hole! The castle walls look like they've barely withstood a full-scale military bombardment. The strangers used their power under full control. They could have easily destroyed all of Hogwarts if they'd wanted to." He laid trembling hands flat against his own chest. "That same power is here, inside of me. What would happen if I let it leak out?"

His voice lowered to little more than a hoarse whisper. "What am I? Why am I so different from everyone else? I could destroy everyone and everything around me. I can't...I just can't—"

Harry's throat closed under the mounting emotions and the torrent of tears that threatened to fall. He swallowed the urge to bawl and clenched his teeth against any further emotional outburst.

Luna nodded and vocalized what he could not say for himself. "Beliefs and things you once thought to be rock solid turned out to be nothing more than a thin layer of sand on a brittle sheet of glass. You're confused about your own abilities. You fear that you're not a true wizard, that there's something wrong, or broken, inside of you. People you trust have betrayed you, used you, tried to forge you into a weapon they could wield, or mold you into the perfect martyr. You feel pressured to be something that you're not, and you don't see a way to escape. You're scarred by the past, intimidated by the present, and terrified of the future. You feel guilt for the consequences of choices that you did or didn't make, and aren't able to see that the choices were not entirely your own. You feel alone."

Harry looked up in amazement. _How did she know? How _could_ she know?_

"Harry Potter." Luna's smile was still dreamy but her blue eyes held a sympathy and understanding like he'd rarely seen. "Despite what some people have done, there are many who care about you. They can be misled or influenced by others. They are human, after all. That doesn't mean they love you any less."

She pointed to the new wizards and witches who stood around the room and at the boy who occupied the next bed past Luna's. Harry blinked in surprise. He remembered seeing the youth on the lawn of Hogwarts—horrifically injured and minutes from death. That same boy now sat propped up on a mound of pillows, glaring fake daggers at the strawberry-haired woman with the pink scarf who insisted on playing with his frosty white, spiky hair.

"You have powerful new friends," she pointed out. "They will never be controlled by any wizard from our world."

A soft-spoken voice joined the conversation. "She's right."

Both teenagers looked up as Jushiro Ukitake stepped into the space between their beds. At some point while the teens slept, the captain of Soul Society's Squad 13 had freshened up. All trace of battle had been removed from his shihakusho, and his straight, pure white hair cascaded over his shoulders. Something about the older man's calm aura gave Harry limited relief from his cycling emotions.

"I remember you." Harry tried to return the smile for the sake of polite appearance. Ukitake's expression softened further, acknowledging Harry's attempt. "You were there, in the healing dome."

"Yes, I was."

_What am I feeling?_ Harry thought. _It's almost as if I can 'read' the power surrounding him. Not of a living thing, but close. It's the clean version of the pressure we all felt during the battle._

Jushiro allowed time for Harry, who was lost in thought, to find his way back to the present then said, "By the time we return home, you'll be tired of hearing this, but let me be the first to thank you. Without you, this tragic drama would have had a darker, more violent ending. I have no doubt—you saved more than one life today."

"I didn't do anything special," Harry denied.

Ukitake waved towards Hitsugaya's bed, to its living, breathing occupant.

"You saved him," Ukitake insisted. "Your passionate defense outside the castle freed both hostages, and your willingness to take a tremendous risk healed him. You did that. Not Madam Pomfrey, not Healers DuLay or Yamada. You and you alone held the power. Despite it being new and frightening, you used it to save someone you do not know. Going back to what you told Luna, I wouldn't call that the act of an irresponsible person who could let himself lose control."

Hitsugaya and Matsumoto stopped their quiet banter and turned to listen to the trio's conversation.

Harry included Ukitake in the conversation, but his eyes were on Luna. "Dumbledore won't let this go. I'm nothing more than a pawn on his chessboard. He'll send me back to the Dursleys where I have fewer rights than a house elf. He'll isolate me like he has every summer. Just like last year, he'll refuse to let me see or write to my friends, and tell them not to write to me…'for my own good'."

The young wizard faced Ukitake, though his eyes darted several times to Hitsugaya and Matsumoto. "He saw me work your kind of magic. He'll want to know more about it. I won't be able to tell him anything because I don't _know_ anything. I can't trust Dumbledore anymore, not after what he put me through this past year. This new power will only make things worse! Once you're gone, he'll nit and pick and poke at me, hoping to find the answer. He'll tighten his stranglehold until I can't breathe. Dumbledore's a manipulative bastard who's convinced beyond any doubt that his way is the only right way. Anyone who disagrees with his plans is branded a supporter of the dark."

"There's no reason to be afraid," Jushiro reassured them. "Like your Ministry of Magic, we can alter memories to hide accidental exposure of our world. Before we leave, we'll modify memories for Dumbledore, Snape, Moody, and everyone who came into contact with us. Most already accept our 'cover story,' so they won't require much alteration."

"I'm sorry, sir," Luna said, "but that's not very reassuring for Harry." Sure enough, the Gryffindor fifth-year had looked away, avoiding the shinigami captain's gaze. "Even if you give him new memories, Albus Dumbledore will continue with his original plans for Harry. The paths ahead have varying outcomes. Few of them end well. At the very least, the Headmaster's schemes will lead to unnecessary deaths. Unless…"

Recalling the witch's gift of foresight, Rangiku Matsumoto asked, "What do you see, Luna-_chan_?"

"See?" Harry repeated, studying the hospital wing for anything that might have attracted the Ravenclaw's attention. "What is she looking at?"

"Nothing external," Jushiro explained. "Luna is a seer. Her insights were vital to rescuing our friends."

"If Harry goes with you and learns your ways," Luna said, her sight on the seer's paths, "many good things will happen. Harry will learn to control his new power, he'll be better prepared when he faces Voldemort, and best of all, he'll be where Dumbledore can't possibly find him."

Harry's face lit with desperate hope. "Is that true? I can go with you?"

Jushiro Ukitake sighed and tried to decide how best to disappoint both teens. In the end, he saw no option other than to come straight out and say the words.

"I'm sorry, children. What you're asking isn't possible."

"Please, sir," Harry begged. "I'll do anything. If I stay here, Dumbledore will destroy what little control I have over my life."

"If the decision were mine to make," Ukitake admitted, "I would find a way, but I'm not the leader of our party."

"Let me speak to him," Harry pleaded. "If I can just talk to him, tell him the truth, I'm sure he'll say yes!"

_I seriously doubt it,_ Ukitake thought_. Byakuya Kuchiki is far too rigid when it comes to rules and regulations. They're too tightly bound up with honor to ever be discarded. Still, it can't hurt to try. Perhaps Hollows will transform into pretty butterflies, or Sosuke Aizen will repent his ways and return to us a changed man. Each event has an equal chance of succeeding._

The door to the outer hallway opened ahead of Byakuya Kuchiki. Behind him, Yoruichi Shihoin trotted along, black ponytail bouncing with every step. A wide grin brightened her dusky face even as a mischievous, almost evil light shone in her golden eyes. Kuchiki's expression was a thundercloud waiting for the lightning to flash.

"Admit it, Little Bya," Yoruichi crooned. "It was so cuuuuute."

"Enough," the nobleman hissed. "There was nothing 'cute' about it. It was a natural reaction with no significance whatsoever."

"Ohhh, come on. She looked adorable! Cuddling up to you … nibbling on your scarf … sliding her head beneath your hand for petting. You were petting her, weren't you, Little Bya?"

"I. Was. Not. Petting. Her. I healed her wing, nothing more."

Shihoin skipped forward and whipped around, blocking his way. Weight perched on one foot, arms clasped behind her back, she tilted forward and worked hard to capture his elusive gaze. "Liar. I saw what I saw, and I know what I saw."

Onyx eyes narrowed to thin slits. A vein ticked along his temple. "If you cannot make sense, Shihoin, be silent."

"You want to take her home, Byakuya, I know you do. She'd make a wonderful pet, don't you agree?"

Captain Ukitake raised his voice enough to carry to the two bickering friends. "Kuchiki-_taicho_. Would you join us? We could use your advice on a matter."

The shinigami captain with the sleek, black hair and white kenseikan stepped into the gap between Toshiro's and Luna's beds. Like Ukitake, he'd restored his appearance, though he must have had magical help (probably from Professor McGonagall) to repair his damaged haori and blood-stained windflower light silk scarf.

No one objected when Yoruichi followed him over.

"We've taken care of every magic user except those in this room, including the children in the towers," Kuchiki reported to his fellow captain. "Once these are done, we can leave."

Harry frowned and shivered. "'Taken care of'?" He turned to Ukitake. "What does he mean? What did he do?"

Yoruichi smiled at the teen and said, "We had to adjust a few memories, that's all. Everyone is fine."

Ukitake created a kido sphere around the group. Byakuya raised a questioning eyebrow then followed Jushiro's gaze back towards the prisoners' area. There he saw why the Squad 13 captain felt the need for secrecy. From his place bound and seated on the floor, Albus Dumbledore glared daggers, glinty eyes locked on their every action and gesture. Severus Snape added his own acid stare, though his vitriol targeted no one except the black-haired young wizard. Even Alastor Moody's magical eye was fixated upon them.

Byakuya turned back to his fellow captain and asked, "What is it?"

Ukitake answered, "Harry believes the headmaster will continue to pose a threat, even after everyone's memories are altered. From what I've seen of the man, I have to agree. Luna foresees a dark future unless steps are taken."

Byakuya slipped half-gloved hands up his sleeves and tilted his head slightly, enough to show a neutral willingness to listen. "What steps would you suggest?"

Jushiro breathed deep, paused, and took the plunge. "Luna recommends that we bring Harry Potter to our world."

"You know we can't." Seeing the two teens prepare to leap into the discussion, Kuchiki held up a gloved hand to forestall their words. "Even if we wanted to, such things take thought, planning, permissions, and lengthy preparation. However much certain members of our community might wish it," he pointedly did not look at Hitsugaya or Matsumoto, and most certainly not at Shihoin, "we simply cannot agree at this time."

From his own hospital bed, Toshiro Hitsugaya's heart went out to the boy who had saved his life. Seeing Harry wilt in abject misery, he said, "Kuchiki-_taicho_, there must be something we can do." The Soul Society's youngest captain was no idiot. To prove it, he tacked on the one argument guaranteed to influence the nobleman. "Honor demands it."

A miniscule softening around his mouth was the only sign that Byakuya Kuchiki might feel as indebted to Harry as the other shinigami. "This is true. Honor requires a response equal to or greater than the debt owed. Nevertheless, the demands of honor cannot influence the facts as they currently stand. Sometime in the future we might—_perhaps_—be able to act, but not now."

Yoruichi Shihoin cut straight to the heart. "Then let's put our heads together and come up with a way to help Harry from this side."

The soul reaperswere at a loss—they didn't know enough about the wizarding world to form any practical ideas—so they looked to Harry and Luna for a response. Harry shrugged despondently, but Luna perked up and answered, "We might not know the answer, but if the blibbering humdingers don't get in the way, an adult witch or wizard might have one."

Luna hopped off her bed, patted Harry's knee, curtseyed to Byakuya, and exited the privacy sphere before anyone thought to question her. The blonde Ravenclaw fourth-year padded on bare feet across the chilly stone floor. With the occasionally skippy hop, she moved to where Professor McGonagall spoke quietly with Arthur and Molly Weasley. Ron and Hermione lay in adjoining beds near the adults, lightly napping after the stresses of the day.

Molly was the first to notice her there, staring at flittery things only she could see while she waited for a polite break in the conversation. "Yes, Luna, dear?"

"Pardon me, Professor." Luna addressed the Deputy Headmistress. Her disconnected air slid off like an ill-fitting robe, leaving behind a courteous but serious young witch. "If you have a moment, would you join us? We have a school matter to discuss."

Minerva McGonagall studied the normally flighty student's concentrated expression. Intrigued and not a little alarmed—when predictable students start acting unpredictable, every teacher knows it's time to worry—she excused herself from the Weasleys and joined Luna, Harry, and the others inside the privacy sphere. Within minutes, they made her aware of the problems.

"I see." She sighed all the way from the tips of her toes. "Ahh, dear. This is a fine mess, I must say." She gave Harry a bemused smile and added, "Such things do tend to follow you around, don't they, Mr. Potter?"

McGonagall thought it over for several minutes. With a firm nod and a huff of determination, she raised her wand and transfigured a bedside table into a high stone wall that encircled the three hospital beds and everyone involved in the conversation.

Receiving several questioning looks, she explained, "Your magic keeps them from hearing us. Mine keeps them from seeing us. We're plotting against a very powerful wizard. I'd just as soon he not know everything."

"The thought is well meant, but unnecessary," Kuchiki replied, his tone patronizing, as though praising a small child's artistic skills for having created a stick-figure drawing. "Everyone who knows anything about our true powers or origins will not remember that information after we leave. This includes you and the children, as well as Albus Dumbledore and his cohorts."

"Better safe than sorry, I say." McGonagall stood by her opinion. "In fact, if you could add more layers that might block a magical eye, it would be all to the good."

Ukitake provided the requested kido fortifications without comment.

Hoping to set the conversation on the proper track, Toshiro asked, "You have an idea?"

"I do." The elder witch turned to Byakuya. "You say you'll be giving us new memories?" She received his nod of acknowledgment. "No matter how detailed the replacement memory, Albus will be suspicious of the circumstances. The damage to the school grounds by itself would be cause for an investigation. He will look for answers outside of his own recollections. He'll peek into the minds and memories of anyone he feels might have answers—primarily myself, Severus, Alastor, and anyone else who might have participated in this morning's battle."

She smiled grimly at Harry. "Mysterious events often revolve around Mr. Potter. Albus will undoubtedly clarify his, Ms. Granger's and Mr. Weasley's involvement." Luna received a smile of her own. "Ms. Lovegood should be safe enough, though her recent excursion to the Ministry of Magic may bring a bit of unwelcome attention her way."

Hitsugaya, feeling tired and achy, attempted once more to move the conversation along. "What do you suggest?"

"Before you obliviate us—Harry, Luna and myself—we will make copies of our recollections and place them in a safe hiding place. Once Albus has investigated and moved on to other matters, we can restore our memories." Seeing objection on several faces, she added, "You can approve which memories we recover. We need only those that relate to Dumbledore's, Snape's, and Moody's crimes and those that pertain to my own, Mr. Potter's, and Ms. Lovegood's involvement."

Kuchiki shook his head. "That would entirely negate the purpose behind adjusting your memories in the first place."

"Only if they can't be trusted," Ukitake countered. "Luna has most certainly earned it." Byakuya hmmm'd but said nothing. "Then we're agreed?"

It took but a few moments for the professor to transfigure several nearby items into crystal flasks to hold the memories. She guided first Harry then Luna through the process of memory extraction, careful to speak aloud so that everyone would know precisely what was being recalled. Her own process took a little longer and left the older witch quite weak, since she had to divide her attention between performing the spell and explaining it aloud at the same time.

In the end, three stoppered containers the size of Harry's index finger lay on the blanket near Toshiro Hitsugaya's feet.

"After my little blow-up this morning," Harry stared at the silvery vials, "everyone knows how I feel about having my memories altered. I'm not sure how I'll react when I find out you've changed mine."

"Write yourself a letter," Kuchiki said, his entire demeanor one of reluctant participation, "and seal it under your own signature. Before your memories are restored, read it. That should make the transition easier."

"Yes, that would work." Luna beamed a happy smile at the stern noble. "Professor McGonagall and I can write one, too. Thank you, sir."

Yoruichi rested a hand against the young witch's back and said, "Luna, you know how important secrecy is to us." She looked up to include Harry and Professor McGonagall. "We're taking a huge risk letting you recover even part of your memories. You have to swear, all of you, not to tell anyone else about us. This is for your safety as well as ours."

"Given the situation, a verbal promise, however sincere, won't be enough." Professor McGonagall held her wand horizontal before her and stared unblinking into Byakuya Kuchiki's eyes. "I, Minerva McGonagall, will never willingly reveal the secrets that are entrusted to me this day. I swear this on my life and magic until such day as I am released from my pledge or death takes me."

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed even as Luna's eyes grew wide with astonishment.

A pearlescent light pulsed three times around the elder witch then flowed back into her body.

"It looks and sounds impressive enough," the nobleman said. "What precisely does it mean?"

McGonagall returned her wand to its forearm holster and straightened her sleeves. "Should I ever tell anyone about you, whether deliberately, by accident or by any means under my control, my magic will turn inwards and kill me. The only way I can ever say anything is for one of you—" she gestured towards the five shinigami witnesses, "—to release me."

"I'll swear too!" Both Luna and Harry reached for their wands, only to find four hands—Shihoin's, McGonagall's, Matsumoto's, and Ukitake's— freezing the motion. Even Hitsugaya made a halting gesture that almost tipped him out of his bed.

"I won't allow children to swear an oath that would risk their lives," Jushiro objected.

With McGonagall's help, the adults agreed upon a vow for the teens to take that would not risk either their magic or their life. Speaking the oaths took only a moment. Writing the required letters took an additional ten minutes. Harry finished last, passing the roll of parchment to his Head of House, who then placed all three scrolls next to the memory vials on Hitsugaya's bed.

"One last point," Yoruichi insisted. "They'll need a way to contact us if something goes wrong."

Kuchiki gave his childhood friend what was, for him, a dire glare that told her quite plainly to 'shut up.' It did nothing but cause the former captain of Squad 2 to glare back and cross her arms over her chest, hefting her assets. The air thickened as the two stubborn reapers butted heads.

Since his intimidating glare proved less than effective, Byakuya moved to another favored weapon, a desert-dry, scathing tone of voice. "And just how would you recommend they do that?"

Shihoin grinned wide and wagged her soul phone in the air.

"No." Kuchiki stiffened his spine. Black eyes hardened to flinty obsidian. "Absolutely not. The notion is ludicrous in the extreme. First you propose to leave them with memories of us, however abbreviated, and now this! It's bad enough that Ichigo Kurosaki has one. He, at least, has a meager reason for possessing our technology. The very idea, leaving such a device in the hands of a child—"

Atypically solemn, Yoruichi cut him off. "Luna has proven herself, Byakuya. I trusted her with my life and with Toshiro's. We're alive because she lived up to that trust."

The staring contest went on for long seconds before Kuchiki surrendered with the barest sigh. "You will leave it with her no matter what I say."

"Damn right I will." She dropped the soul phone beside the letters and memory vials. "As I said, they need a way to call for help."

"Do as you will. I can't stop you. About the rest..."

McGonagall said, "Extracting the memories was easy enough. The next question seems to be, how do we get them back?"

Luna hopped onto the edge of Harry's bed. "I would say we could ask Lady Helena. She's the Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw house ghost. However, being incorporeal, I'm afraid she couldn't do more than communicate messages. To make matters worse, she's under geas to both Hogwarts and the Headmaster. He could use either one against her. She'd have no choice but to expose our plan."

"Dobby." Everyone turned to Harry. Flushing under the intense attention, he swallowed and said, "We can ask Dobby. He's a house elf. Dumbledore's giving him wages to work here at Hogwarts, but he's a free elf, not bound to either Dumbledore or the school. He's pretty loyal to me...too much sometimes...but I think he'd be glad to help."

"There's only one way to find out," McGonagall said. Louder, she called, "Dobby, come here please."

With a sharp crack, a house elf wearing a Hogwarts tea towel, a dozen knitted caps and mismatched socks appeared next to the Deputy Headmistress. "Does Missy Gongal call Dobby? Dobby could barely hears her, likes he is having his ears under water. Oh! Master Harry Potter, sir. Yous is awake. Dobby is so glad, sir. The most horrible rumors has been going around the kitchens, sir. Horrible rumors indeed!"

"Dobby," the transfiguration professor asked, "do you know where we can get a pensieve other than the one in Headmaster Dumbledore's office?"

The little elf bobbed his head. "Dobby does. Theys be one in the Come and Go Room, not used in years years years! Dobby gets for you."

"Dobby, wait," McGonagall said, halting the elf an instant before he could vanish. "Leave it where it is for now. Keep it hidden until we need it."

"Needs it for what, Missy Gongal?"

Harry answered instead, saying, "Dobby, there's something I'm asking you to do for us. It's very secret. If you don't feel comfortable hiding something from Dumbledore—"

"Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter."

"Thank you, Dobby." Harry pointed to the collected items. "These vials contain memories from myself, Luna, and Professor McGonagall. We've all three written letters to ourselves, and there's a device used by these people to talk to one another. We want you to hide them in a safe place, somewhere the Headmaster can't find them. Before they leave, these people will alter our memories." Seeing the little elf bristle in his defense, Harry hastily reassured him. "We've agreed to it. They have to protect themselves, and us, from the Headmaster."

"Dubbledore being a bad wizard, isn't he." Dobby's floppy ears drooped. "Like old master."

Luna rubbed the elf's back in soothing circles. "In some ways, he's nowhere near as bad. In other ways, he's worse. He has plans for Harry that are not in Harry's best interests."

The elf sniffed and stood taller. "Dobby will help. Dobby will hide Harry Potter's thingies in safe place. Then what should Dobby do?"

"After our new friends return to their home," Minerva answered, "Dumbledore will surely use legilimency to check our memories for information. Since our recollections will match everything he's remembering, he should leave us alone fairly quickly. Wait as late as you can. Just before we leave to board the train, you should bring Harry, Luna, and me to the Come and Go Room and give us these things, particularly the letters. Once I have my memories back, I can keep an eye on Dumbledore over the summer."

"You is be agreeing with this, Harry Potter sir?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Is big thing you ask of Dobby. Dobby will not fail the great Harry Potter." Dobby turned large, shiny eyes toward Toshiro. "All Hogwarts elves knows whats the Headmastry has done. Sorry we are that we's couldn't help."

"I understand," Toshiro accepted the little creature's regrets with a small nod.

"Off you go then, Dobby," McGonagall said, "and thank you."

The little elf gathered the items from Toshiro's bed, bobbed a final goodbye, and disappeared with a sharp crack.

"One last matter needs attention," Ukitake said. "As Byakuya pointed out, we can't take Harry home with us, but is there any way to keep attention fixed upon the Headmaster, enough so that he won't be able to interfere as much in Harry's life?"

The Deputy Headmistress ran various strategies through her head then answered with noticeable reluctance, "There might be. How well it will work is yet to be seen."

"What do you need us to do?" Rangiku asked.

"Once I've sent messages to the Ministry and the Board of Governors...obliviate us."

()()()()

Albus Dumbledore felt nothing but righteous indignation as the strongest of the invaders approached him with grim purpose. The creatures won this morning's skirmish due to luck rather than to superior magical or martial skills. He had them beaten until Harry Potter appeared on the battlefield, riding the tail feathers of Dumbledore's own phoenix. That unforeseeable event tipped the scale, not any stratagem devised by the enemy. The lesson had been hard-learned: Albus Dumbledore would not be distracted like that a second time.

A true wizard ended the fight, not a fake. Without any doubt, the next time they clashed, the wizarding world would win.

The orange-haired boy and the tattooed one jerked Albus off the floor without a thought for his age or rank. Beside him, four of the lesser-ranked captors forced Severus and Alastor to their feet. The Headmaster of Hogwarts gave first one then the other of his manhandlers a scathing look meant to convey contempt for his ill-treatment.

In response to his glare, the youth had the gall to say, "On your feet, old man. Time to find out why it's not a good idea to poke a dragon, _especially_ one made of ice."

The elder wizard overcame the ignominy of captivity as best he could. Conjured ropes bound his wrists, while a silencing spell prevented speech. Both restrictions made it hard but not impossible to maintain the proper mien. Glowing orbs of blue-white light surrounded his hands. Coupled with the silencing spell, they prevented any type of wandless magic. True, the arcane restrictions detracted from his intended display of conviction, but a lifetime of power gave Albus Dumbledore the confidence necessary to overcome that handicap.

In truth, the end result needed only three things, none of which required magic: a dignified shrug (perfected over a very long lifetime) to settle his robes for proper appearance and comfort; a firm lift to his chin to convey pride; and a belief in one's own convictions. He would stare directly into his captors' eyes with neither regret nor shame.

_Projecting one's authority,_ he told himself,_ is just as important to these sorts of situations as having the authority itself._

When Minerva added her transfigured wall to the strangers' already impressive shields, Albus knew a major conspiracy was afoot. Too many key players had taken drastic steps to hide their actions from him for it to be anything else. He'd even turned to Alastor for some indication that the ex-auror could see through the wall. Moody's negative headshake ended that faint hope.

The conspirators spent nearly an hour beyond his sight before dismantling both the physical and magical barriers. During that time, all manner of plans may have formed and unholy alliances reached.

That their schemes involved Harry Potter did not escape his notice. Any possibility that the boy might not be a willing participant never crossed Dumbledore's mind. Harry was inside the barrier while the plots thickened. Ergo, he was guilty of betrayal alongside Minerva McGonagall.

_Unfaithful witch. How dare she betray the Light. Betray ME! I'll see her in a Ministry cell for this. At the very least, I'll toss her out of Hogwarts without so much as a carpetbag of clothes or a sickle to her name. I'll make certain she never teaches a single student ever again. Let her starve on the streets for all I care._

_As for Harry Potter. Let him plan, plot, twist, and turn. When all is said and done, he has nowhere to go but to where I send him. It has to be that way. I learned my lesson with Gellert. I cannot allow another Dark Lord to replace Voldemort, which Harry will certainly do. I am the Savior of the Light, then and now._

As the group approached, Dumbledore studied each member for any hint of vulnerability. Their uniforms spoke of two distinctly different groups, with a clear cultural divide. Some wore several layers of black and white clothing, with flaired legs, overly large sleeves, toed socks, and woven straw sandals. For the three officers, sleeveless white outer robes with a row of large and small black diamonds along the bottom completed their attire. This group looked to be from Asia, most probably Japan.

_The homunculus wore similar clothing during the fight in London. These are his teachers, his superiors, or both._

The remaining uniforms—black, short-sleeve tunics over a white undershirt, black leggings, and leather sandals laced up to the knee—were distinctly European, medieval England to be precise. Fairer complexions and more rounded facial features strengthened that supposition. The leaders of this group wore short white mantles over their shoulders, adorned with numbers within pentagonal Celtic knots. The numbers (three, five, six, and eight) were significant, but as Albus had no frame of reference to explain what the significance might be, he filed the thought away.

All were silent except for two of the "native leadership." The female healer and the man with the glasses—introduced earlier as Anissina DuLay and Daniel Gilbreathe. The headmaster studied the man more closely than he did the woman. Dumbledore didn't count the healing arts as any kind of a threat.

_I recognize him from Severus's memories,_ Albus recalled. _He was part of that first fight, the one outside of the Leaky Cauldron._

"I loathe having to tamper with anyone's memories," the healer sighed, "especially on anyone so young."

"They're old enough, Nissa," Gilbreathe said. "They didn't need an in-depth adjustment, just a few key details. The aerosol version of the memory-modifying compound is mild enough for even the youngest children inside the castle. They only needed to forget the spiritual pressure, not the actual battle itself. They'll be fine."

"I know, Daniel," she said. "It's the principle."

"Better a modified memory than having information that might draw dangerous attention their way," the bespeckled man summed up his argument. "Once you do everyone in this room, we'll be done. We can go home, heal and move on."

"Well said, Daniel." Aina Sigursdottur stopped three feet away from Dumbledore, hard eyes boring into him from her greater height. The Nordic woman faced Kingsley Shacklebolt, the closest wizard, and commanded, "Remove the silencing spell on them. It's time for answers and punishments."

The instant he could speak, Albus Dumbledore fired the opening salvo.

"Before you begin, know this. I will not be dictated to by you or anyone else," he stated. "I am the Leader of the Light. I will use every means at my disposal, every scrap of information or knowledge, to protect my people."

"You won't be using anything you may have learned about our kind of magic," Daniel Gilbreathe replied, all trace of compassion absent from his normally congenial voice. "You won't remember any of the knowledge you've stolen."

()()()()

Toshiro watched the white-gloved Avalonians pass among the wizards, shaking hands as they want. They would chat quietly for a moment, the wizards listening with, if one looked very carefully, a drugged glaze to their expression. The effect lasted only a few moments before the Avalonians excused themselves and moved onto the next mortal.

"What changes are they making?" Toshiro asked.

Shunsui Kyoraku tipped his sakkat further back on his head and replied, "They'll forget about the spiritual pressure or anything else that can't be described in terms of their magic. Dumbledore will recall discovering that Snape and Moody have kidnapped a strange boy under the mistaken belief that he holds some type of new knowledge or power. He accepts Snape's assurances that the boy is being well cared for while they investigate his history and abilities. Dumbledore's main crime will be failure to check for himself and, once he discovers the truth, makes the poor choice to support Snape against our 'rescue force.' His decision to use 'hostages' was nothing more than a desperate bluff to keep us out of the school and away from the wizarding students. Most of the blame for 'Shiro's condition will be put on Snape."

"And the others?" Rangiku asked. "Harry and Luna?"

"Both had risen early and gone for walks near the lake. Because they were outside of the castle, they were missed in the lockdown. By unlucky chance, they found themselves on the battlefield. Their presence so surprised both sides that the fighting stopped. Discussions occurred and a peaceful cease-fire was reached."

"Ha! Your tricks don't work on me!" Professor Snape slapped Anissina's gloved hand away from his forehead. "Further proof that you're not magical in any way."

"My, my," Kyoraku sighed. "It seems that Severus Snape is somewhat resistant to memory alteration."

With Ichigo and Renji restraining the struggling potions master, the two Avalon captains applied a stronger memory-altering solution to Snape's face and throat. The wizard thrashed and cursed. For a breathless moment, it seemed that nothing would work, but eventually, Severus Snape ceased to struggle and accepted the memory alteration.

They tended to Dumbledore last. Though it was both hard and lengthy, they finally cut through to the Headmaster and set the new memory.

"_Taicho_," Rangiku said. "How can you be so calm about this? They're letting them off with nothing more than tiny slaps to their hands!"

"Would you rather I rant, rage, and throw a temper tantrum? Or should I curl into a ball and cry?"

Rangiku flushed and hung her head. "_Sumimasen, Hitsugaya-taicho._ I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't." Toshiro studied his lap, and the fists that clenched the blankets over his thighs. Jaw muscles jerked in time to his grinding teeth. His voice carried no inflection—every iota of emotion was suppressed in favor of surviving the next hour with his pride and sanity intact. "Yes, I want to see them punished. Any sane person would. All three should be made to atone for what they did to me, to Yoruichi Shihoin, and to others we know nothing about."

One finger at a time, he relaxed his stranglehold on the covers. Try as he might, he could not stop the tiny tremors that wracked his body. "That would happen in a perfect world."

"But this world…isn't perfect."

Turquoise eyes lifted. Jaded, flat mirrors reflected all emotional stimuli.

"No, Rangiku. It's not. It's anything but perfect. For the sake of stability in the magical world, I must sit back and watch my tormenters walk free."

"It's not fair. It's not _right!_"

"No, it isn't, but I'll live with it. It won't be the first time I've had to let a guilty soul go free. It certainly won't be the last."

Loud voices from the corridor caught more than one person's attention. Kyoraku sighed and nodded. "Looks like they finished the memory adjustments just in time."

"Time?" Matsumoto repeated. "Time for what?"

"Time to see whether we can shift enough blame on Dumbledore but not destroy his power entirely. Time to see whether we can give Harry Potter the extra freedom that we've promised."

The medical wing doors opened to admit two elderly witches, one younger woman, and a middle-aged wizard.

()()()()

Hearing the nearby doors open, Harry turned to see who might be arriving. He wasn't expecting to see Amelia Bones, Augusta Longbottom, Mafalda Hopkirk, and an unfamiliar wizard who, upon approaching the Hogwarts teachers, introduced himself as Rufus Scrimgeour. The four arrived in a tight group, there to represent both the Ministry of Magic and the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

Amelia Bones demanded to know why two of her aurors—she pinned Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks with flinty glares—were involved in a non-Ministry-sanctioned altercation. Even with the excuse of a surprise attack against the school, they should have found _some_ way to alert either herself or the Ministry. She would be "having words with them the instant they returned to Auror Headquarters." Kingsley stiffened and took the tongue-lashing, while Tonks shuddered and made herself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

Mafalda Hopkirk, representing the Hogwarts Board of Governors, showed keen interest in recent reports she'd received from both students and parents regarding happenings throughout the school year. She zeroed in on the actions of Dolores Jane Umbridge—unnecessary detentions, poor teaching practices, unreasonable "educational decrees," even something about a blood quill? Did the woman have something to do with this day's debacle? Before this investigation finished, she would have either answers or someone's head on a plate. "Personally, I don't care which. But I will have _something_ to show for my work."

Regarding the wizard, Scrimgeour, Harry tried very hard _not_ to look his way too often. Potter overheard Professors Sprout and Flitwick discussing the man who would surely replace Cornelius Fudge once the Wizengamot heard of the Minister's connections to Umbridge, their opinion being that anyone would be better than Fudge. Scrimgeour asked numerous questions and took copious notes so as to be seen doing the job for which he'd been summoned. Even so, the wizard glanced at Harry too often for it to be nothing more than mere curiosity concerning the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had the distinct and uneasy feeling of being weighed and measured for some purpose known only to Scrimgeour.

Minister Fudge had looked at Harry with that same hungry, calculating expression. Harry hated it both then and now.

Potter felt most sorry for young Toshiro, who had to deal with Neville Longbottom's grandmother. The old witch with the battered, vulture-topped hat and oversized red handbag had unthinkingly rude opinions regarding his hair ("did some spell or potion of Snape's bleach out all of the color? And sweet Merlin, can't you do something to tame it? It's spiking in every direction like you'd just been hit by lightning!"), eyes ("never seen their like, that can't be a natural color"), and his generally poor physical condition ("really, Madam Pomfrey, I expect better from you. Can't you heal anything more serious than a parchment cut?").

Her incessant nattering and scathing comments would leave anyone on edge. Toshiro's jaw jumped, whether from muscle spasms, grinding of teeth, or both, Harry couldn't tell. Whatever the case, the new boy was one hair's width away from telling the old harridan exactly what he thought of her insensitive inquiries.

The confrontation came to a head when Lady Longbottom dared to reach out, intending to touch his hair. In a flash, Haineko's sword point appeared less than four inches from the annoying woman's throat. On the bed, Toshiro had Hyorinmaru half out of his sheath. Nearby, Ichigo Kurosaki gripped Zangetsu's hilt, and Renji Abarai stood ready to draw Zabimaru.

Rangiku Matsumoto's voice held an edge sharper than the blade of her sword. "Do not touch him."

Though neither Jushiro Ukitake nor Shunsui Kyoraku moved to draw their swords, they did slide between the elderly witch and Hitsugaya's ardent defenders. Faced with five grim-faced protectors and a pale but unyielding patient, Augusta Longbottom retreated two steps, turned and made her stately way back to the group interrogating Dumbledore, Snape, and Moody. Her retreat had nothing whatsoever to do with intimidation or fear.

To Harry and his friends, the finest moment of the entire evening was watching them officially sack Severus Snape. Mafalda Hopkirk dismissed him from the room to gather his personal belongings and leave the castle within the hour. Dumbledore even sent Professor McGonagall to supervise his packing and departure. The two former colleagues left the hospital wing to the cheers of every student and even a few of the faculty.

The Ministry and Board members stayed several hours, questioning and digging until they were, if not satisfied, at least willing to wait for additional evidence of wrong-doing. By the time they left, the sun was long set, leaving only torchlight to brighten the hospital wing.

The strangers were preparing to leave.

Harry watched a spectral door, like something straight out of the Middle Ages, smoke into existence at the far end of the hospital wing. The twin gates, once solid, swung open. A bright light—beyond which lay a blue-gray, swirling mass—hid any possible view of what waited beyond.

"Please?" Harry turned a frantic, pleading gaze toward the three people who would most sympathize with him. "Take me with you?"

Seated on the side of his bed, his sheathed sword beside him, Toshiro Hitsugaya grimaced and tried to speak, but nothing came out. Standing on his right, Rangiku Matsumoto also tried to answer, with equally dismal results. Only Jushiro Ukitake, who stood between Harry and the young captain, found the strength to respond.

"I'm sorry, Harry. We can't."

"Please! I'll do anything. Any chore, anything at all! I'll swear on my magic that I won't steal your secrets! I won't eat much, and…and I don't take up much room. I only need a tiny corner. I just...just..." Harry stared at the stone floor ahead of his feet, "_please_ take me with you."

Ukitake sighed and shook his head. Harry had made the same despairing plea before the memory adjustment. It was just as hard to shatter his hopes the second time around. He laid an understanding hand on the boy's unruly black hair, wincing at the uncontrolled tremors beneath his gentle touch. The Squad 13 captain asked a question that he already knew most of the answers to, hoping it might help the child in some way.

"Would it help to tell us why you're so desperate to leave your home?"

A gruff sound and a brief sneer expressed Harry's opinion of that better than any words. "Home. What home? After everything that's happened this year, Hogwarts...isn't home anymore. And the summer hols..." Harry's gaze twitched towards the corner where Dumbledore stood, still defending his actions to various members of the Order of the Phoenix and members of the Hogwarts faculty. "If I stay here, he'll do what he's always done—smile, pat me on the head, twinkle at me over the top of his glasses, and send me away. He'll make me go back. To the Dursleys."

"Perhaps not..."

Harry shook his head, refusing to even daydream about the possibility. "He will. With everyone knowing that Voldemort is back...and...and with my godfather...Sirius...gone...there's nowhere else for me to go. Last year he refused to let my best friend Ron's parents take me in over the summer, even after all the bad stuff I'd been through because of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. It won't be any different this time. He'll cover everything up. Nothing will change. That's why—" Harry grabbed Ukitake's sleeve with frenzied strength. "That's why I want...I _have_...to get away. If I stay, he'll send me back there. He'll refuse to let me out. He won't let anyone write to me. I'll be...alone."

From his place next to Renji and Hanataro a few beds away, Ichigo mumbled to his friends, "Damn, that kid's home life sucks. He's that desperate to run away with us, strangers he's known for less than a day? There's gotta be something we can do for him."

Renji whispered back, "I feel bad for the kid, we all do, but it's impossible, Ichigo. You know that."

Hanataro nodded and shuffled his feet, depressed at being unable to help a living soul in need of support.

"Ukitake..." Harry could barely hear Toshiro's soft voice over his own harsh breathing.

"I know, 'Shiro. Now is neither the time nor the place." He sighed and turned back to the young wizard. "Harry, if it were possible, I would say yes." Jushiro waved towards the swirling mass beyond the gates. "The passage between here and our home is protected. Only someone who has received lengthy preparation can pass through the doors. It's a defense against both accidental and malicious intrusion."

"Can I come later, after I have this 'preparation'?"

Ukitake looked around at his fellow captains and reapers. Most showed some sympathy for the young wizard who'd saved Captain Hitsugaya. Except for Kuchiki, which was only to be expected.

"Perhaps, but I can make no promises." His eyes flickered toward the clump of adult magic users, many of whom were watching their discussion with the distraught Harry Potter with a great deal of concern or dislike. "Especially none that can be seen or overheard."

Potter slumped and shuffled away, sliding from beneath Ukitake's comforting hand. "I understand."

Ukitake refused to let the matter end on such a grim note. He gripped the boy's shoulders with both hands. Startled green eyes jumped up to meet doe brown.

"Listen to me, Harry Potter. You are not alone. We owe you so much, more than you can ever know. As partial payment of that debt, we've done what we can to shift attention towards Dumbledore. With so many eyes watching his every move, he will be cautious, especially regarding you."

"I suppose that's the best I can hope for."

"For now, yes. Who knows what the future might bring."

Kuchiki stepped forward and said, "It is time. We must go."

Madam Pomfrey fretted and fussed. "I still believe he should stay. At least for the night. Let him heal a little more before he tries to move around so much."

Anissina DuLay smiled and shook her head. "Thank you for your help, but we've imposed on you long enough. I promise, once we get home, I'll put him straight to bed."

Hitsugaya threw a disgruntled look towards the two healers. "I'm not a child who needs to take a nap."

"I agree, you're not," Anissina replied. "What you _are_ is a patient in need of healing time." Seeing his still-stubborn expression, she said, "Hanataro has told me about your own master healer. Retsu Unohana, I believe her name is? Would you feel more comfortable in her care?"

"Nnnnn." Toshiro slumped and looked away. The _last_ thing he wanted was to pull the dragon lady of Soul Society onto his case. If Unohana-_taicho_ laid hands on him, he'd be lucky to see daylight for a month!

"Alright, then. If you're ready. Can you stand?"

Toshiro Hitsugaya took a bracing breath and eased towards the edge of the bed. It had been a long, hard fight to win approval to wear his shihakusho during the migration through the Senkeimon. Almost everyone had wanted him to wear some version of patient dress, usually a yukata, or loose robe, that put less pressure on half-healed wounds and still-tender areas than the multi-layered, sometimes stiff shihakusho.

He'd won the argument with one simple statement backed by unyielding pride and determination. "I came to this wretched place wearing this uniform. I'll be damned if I'll walk out of here wearing anything less."

So here he sat on the side of his hospital bed, clad in everything except his haori, tabi, and waraji. Even he had to admit, his feet were far too swollen to allow any type of socks or footwear.

Toshiro hissed a curse as weight settled on the half-healed soles of his heavily bandaged feet. As he transferred more weight, the pain crested then lessened to the point that he could ignore the throbbing.

Whether he could stand or walk was still in question. Half-healed bones in his legs and feet barely supported him. Toshiro wobbled, teetered and almost fell but caught himself at the last moment. Several reapers gave tiny cheers at his success. Rangiku draped his haori over his shoulders and settled Hyorinmaru into place across his back. Though weak and moving stiffly, he hobbled towards the gate without aid. Rangiku, Ichigo, and Renji hovered close by to catch him in case he overestimated either his strength or his endurance.

As the Avalon lieutenants and knights entered the Precipice World ahead of the shinigami and their own senior officers, Ichigo ruffled Harry's hair. He offered the younger teen a big smile and a mischievous wink.

"Hang in there, kid," he said. "I have a feeling this adventure's not over just yet."

Harry's gaze drifted to the central figure in the day's drama. Though still bruised, bandaged, and unsteady on his feet with healing left to do, Toshiro looked a thousand times better than he had even a few hours ago. With healing came a natural strength, a projection of power and pride. The latter was particularly noticeable in the way he carried himself despite obvious pain. Here was a young man who would not let infirmity keep him sidelined for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Harry rallied enough to attempt a smile towards the boy. "Take care of yourself and get well soon."

Toshiro nodded. "I will. Thank you."

As the strangers passed one by one through the gateway, soft fingers brushed across Harry's palm. Luna Lovegood offered him a wistful smile.

"Alright there, Harry?" she asked.

"I suppose."

Luna grinned and waved to the last group approaching the gateway. She called out, "_Ja na._" (1)

Several Japanese reapers laughed, Yoruichi Shihoin in particular, who answered with his own, "_Ja na, Luna-chan!_"

Harry blinked. "What na?"

As the portal closed and disappeared into a wisp of cloud, Luna flicked a strand of blonde hair back over her shoulder. "Just a phrase that I picked up from somewhere. It seemed appropriate."

()()()()

_Ja na._ – Japanese slang for "see you later."

()()()()

**OMAKE: I really wanted to use this scene (and another with Byakuya and the affectionate thestral filly) but they didn't fit either the chapter flow or the timeline. Enjoy.**

"The worst remaining injury is the broken bones," Anissina said. "Our method of healing can speed up the process, but it will still take some time."

Madam Pomfrey opened a nearby cabinet and pulled out a ceramic carafe with an ominous depiction of a bone pile on the top. "I have a potion that can deal with that in a matter of hours."

Toshiro eyed the bottle, sweat-dropped, shook his head, and leaned away. "No, thank you."

"Don't worry," Harry reassured him even as he accepted the bottle long enough to infuse it with the same near-magic energy as before. "I've had Skelegro lots of times. It tastes like...ambrosia!"

Toshiro gave him a wary look complete with raised eyebrow.

Shunsui Kyoraku leaned over, tilted his _sakkat_ to hide his face from all but Harry, and whispered, "Does it really taste like ambrosia?"

Harry, equally quiet, answered, "No. It tastes more like moldy socks soaked in vinegar and sewer sludge."

The Gotei 13's most flamboyant captain snickered. "Then why-"

"By the time he notices the taste, it'll be over."

"GAAAAACK!"


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

**A/N: A note to those who inquired regarding ships. There won't be room in this story for romantic subplots, het or slash, canon or otherwise. A few PM's swear they see me setting Harry up with Luna. While I'm not against that ship, or other boats in a fleet of possibilities, I'll be concentrating too much on Harry, Toshiro, Ichigo, Dumbledore, Voldemort, etc. to take time for romance. RotFH is already over 115,000 words long. If my projections are correct, it will end up being somewhere around 200,000!**

**So. Shippers, sorry. Please check your local listings for the next scheduled departure.**

_Dear Harry,_

_Pleasantries are all well and good, but at this point, they only delay the real purpose of this letter, and that would be a silly thing to do, don't you agree? So, other than to say I hope you're feeling better now, I will bypass the usual opening-letter folderol and move on to the subject that, I am most positive, is at the top of both our minds._

_As everyone suspected he would, the Headmaster used legilimency on me the morning we boarded the Hogwarts Express. As if that wasn't enough of an insult, the old curmudgeon wasn't the least bit subtle about it. Is he not aware that the first step in preventing a nargle infestation is to recognize when something foreign enters your mind? As Hermione would no doubt exclaim ... Honestly!_

_I might say that I assume he did the same to you, but "assume" spells something that is not appropriate to the situation. When one assumes, one makes an ASS out of U and Me. Get it? One of the muggleborns in Ravenclaw said that back in my first year. So clever! I have always wanted a reason to repeat it. I find it most hilarious, don't you?_

His back pressed against the bare wall at the head of his rickety bed, Harry snickered and shook his head. Typical Luna-cy.

Flickering light from a bare, low-watt bulb in a dented brass table lamp offered little in the way of comforting illumination. For Harry, it was better than no light at all. A weak glow illuminated the loopy handwriting on a parchment letter that, along with a small package, had arrived on the heels of both sunset and a rare summer thunderstorm. Harry couldn't be positive, what with the poor lighting, but the ink looked to be a bizarre combination of mustard yellow, bronze, and umber, as though the ink was poorly mixed and the three colors separated as the lines progressed.

Despite its less than optimal output, the small lamp had been a lucky thrift store find for Harry. After all, his relatives weren't about to spend good money on an item that helped him in any way.

Beyond the window of the smallest bedroom of the house at 4 Privet Drive, powerful winds and horizontal rain lashed the building. Agitated tree limbs slammed against the brick exterior like brutal blows from a troll's club. The storm, the late hour and poor visibility combined to blacken the room's already creepy shadows. The poor barn owl that had delivered the letter looked miserable perched on the back of Harry's desk chair, tired, sopping wet, and quite bedraggled. Hedwig rested in her cage, doing her best to sleep through the commotion.

Harry angled the parchment towards the lamp and continued to read.

_As you know, our plans didn't work out quite to schedule, but in the end, no harm done. We all assumed (there's that naughty word again...) he would review everyone's memories at Hogwarts before we left in the carriages. No one expected him to wait until we stood on the platform. Dobby did quite well, holding off returning our memories until our first night at home. I must say, having a house elf carrying a shoulder bag and a pensieve appear in my bedroom as I stood naked, undressing for bed, was startling, even for me!_

Embarrassing heat flowed over Harry's neck and ears and other responsive body parts. He wasn't interested in Luna Lovegood except as a trusted friend, but he was a teenage boy with elevated hormones and a vivid imagination. Something soft and curvy might lurk beneath Luna's school robes.

A brilliant flash of lightning, followed instantly by a sonic thunderclap, turned his room a blinding silver-white. A violent surge of wind slammed rain and scattered hailstones against the window pane hard enough to make the glass hum. The unexpected dazzle and sounds broke the hypnotic products of his youthful imagination.

Face aflame, Harry chastised himself for even forming such a thought. He forcibly redirected his attention to the second half of the lengthy letter.

_I received a letter from Professor McGonagall less than an hour ago asking if Dobby was successful. She didn't specifically say so, but I think Dobby recalled her first and followed her instructions to return our memories once we were well clear of the Headmaster rather than doing so before we left the school, as we'd originally planned. She asked me to pass along a message to you. While it appears that the memory alterations were successful, Dumbledore is suspicious of everyone and everything, paranoid and quite close-mouthed about his feelings and plans. The loss of his phoenix bond will only add to his instability. She highly recommends exercising great care in any dealings we might have with him._

"Like I need reminding of that," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore's furious expression, the one aimed their way as Harry and his new friends made plans behind privacy shields in the Hogwarts infirmary, was forever branded into Harry's memory. It was the face of a vindictive and vengeful man. Harry found no remorse, no compassion, and, most chilling of all, no mercy. It was an expression he had never before seen on the headmaster's face, and least of all directed towards him. Those sparkling blue eyes had been filled with rage, suspicion and accusation. They were all traitors to both Dumbledore and the Light, which in the old wizard's warped mind amounted to the same thing.

After what Harry had seen take place in the last few days before leaving Hogwarts' grounds, it was plain as day. Albus Dumbledore teetered on the brink of insanity. It wouldn't take much at all to tip him over, if he hadn't fallen already.

Harry shook his head to dispel an instinctive shiver of fear. With conscious effort, he stilled his shaking right hand. The thumb of his left hand rubbed the slender edge of the flat wooden box that rested on the bed next to his hip. The as-yet-unexplained item had accompanied the young witch's correspondence.

_Even though she is your Head of House, and it is well within her purview to follow up on a student who has suffered as you have, writing directly to you might draw attention to things that we all would prefer remain hidden. What's more, Dumblebumble forbade Hermione, the Weasleys, the professors and staff from writing to you. "Let the poor boy grieve and recover in peace," he said. What a load of dragon dung! Still, the old coot isn't as crafty as he thinks. He didn't say anything about writing to other students, did he? So, if Prof. McGonagall or anyone else needs you to know anything, they can pass it along through me. The reverse is also true._

As our new friends planned, Dumblebum is quite busy with demands from the Ministry, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, the Wizengamot, the ICW, the DMLE, and the wizarding press. For well over a week, Hogsmeade has reaped a great bounty from both officials who demand information and reporters assaulting the castle in hopes of an exclusive. Their presence is providing quite an unexpected boost to the local economy during a time of usually slow income.

_The Headmaster's search for someone to fill both the Potions and the DADA professorships will only add to his distraction. This doesn't even begin to address the veritable avalanche of letters (including, I am told, many howlers) from infuriated parents. From what I understand, Molly Weasley has the exploding howler down to a fine art form._

_This has been a most interesting few weeks! I confess to a bit of sadness at seeing the end of my recent adventures. They were quite thrilling and a totally new experience for me. Perhaps I will create a line of children's adventure books based on someone who is not myself. They will tell the story of a young Ravenclaw witch who is exposed to a previously hidden society that is at odds with her own. A dastardly villain with stupid henchmen (and henchwomen, to be fair), obstructing officials, mystical creatures, magic battles, swordplay, and good friends abound! It's never been done before, to the best of my knowledge. I will ask Daddy if I can use the Quibbler's press between issues of the magazine._

_Now to a more negative topic. As we were leaving the train at King's Cross Station, I witnessed your ... I hesitate to call them relatives but ... I saw how the man with the walrus mustache and no neck treated you. As an aside, I must say this: the crimson splotches on his face cannot be good for his health. I daresay he was none too pleased with being ganged up on by members of the Order of the Fricasseed Firebird, though Dumbles might have to change that name as Fawkes is no longer his familiar. Your aunt and uncle must surely be monitoring your letters to the Order to make certain you not only send the messages but portray your "caretakers" in a favorable light._

_Because of that, and as an additional means of keeping Bumblebutt's bulbous beak out of your business (owls can be intercepted, you know), I have provided you with a letter-poster. It's a mate to the one I have. You slide your letter or package into the slot on the side of the box. If the device lives up to its advertisements, the slot will expand to accept any non-living item up to the size of a quaffle. The fairies on the top will dance whenever there's a waiting message or package. They're quite beautiful, truly. The one with the awesomely long hair who likes to pirouette is my particular favorite. I do hope you'll write me often so that I can watch them frolic in the forest! To receive a letter, you need only tap the opening with the tip of your wand, and the letter-poster will complete the delivery._

Harry looked down. Sure enough, seven fairies etched into the top of the flat rectangular block of wood danced in a shimmer of silvery moonlight against a backdrop of swaying oak trees. He agreed with Luna; the fairy with hair long enough to brush the ground was quite pretty.

_I have already forwarded something to you. Molly Weasley often brings food over for Daddy and me. Many times it's more than we two can eat by ourselves. Somehow I doubt those muggles feed you properly, so I'll be sending something every day to tide you over._

_Do be careful, and stay in touch._

_Yours,_

_Luna (sometimes called Looney, though I can't imagine why)_

_PS. My father was kind enough to spell this letter for me, since I can't do it myself because of the Ministry's bothersome laws regarding underage magic. Should anyone besides yourself read it, they will see nothing more interesting than a running and convoluted discussion regarding a summer snorkack hunt, mixed with the risks of allowing nargles to invade one's ears. Come to think of it, my next letter to you might cover those very topics. After all, my father and I do plan a search for snorkacks in Bavaria, and nargle infestations are nasty things that should be avoided at all costs._

Harry re-read the letter, starting with her first mention of Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore's paranoia, then folded it carefully and hid it inside his school trunk, tucked between the pages of an old transfiguration textbook. He closed his trunk, careful not to slam the lid loud enough to attract Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia's attention, though with a raucous thunderstorm directly overhead, any small sounds from his room would not be noticed.

Curious to see what Luna had sent him via the letter-poster, Harry pulled his wand from beneath his pillow and tapped the slit along the rectangular box's wide side. The opening shimmered and expanded until a square package popped out, wrapped in a red-and-blue checkered cloth. A napkin roll sat on top, from which peeked the ends of a fork, spoon and knife. He immediately caught the heavenly scent Mrs. Weasley's piping hot mincemeat pie, fresh-baked bread, and treacle tart.

Ravenous, Harry barely thought to use the cutlery, diving into the delicious offerings with a total lack of manners. Luna —and inadvertently, Mrs. Weasley — had provided him with a feast, enough to last several meals, even with the way he scarfed down his first serving.

As he ate, Harry's remembered the passage from Luna's letter, where Dumbledore yet again forbid anyone from contacting him. Would Ron and Hermione obey this year, as they did last summer? If so, was it out of respect for his mourning, or did they blame him for their injuries during their adventure at the Ministry of Magic? Harry couldn't bear the thought of another lonely summer, where his friends hardly wrote, and when they did, said nothing but useless gossip.

Harry's hunger fell silent for the first time in over a week. Hearing a soft hoot from Hedwig, he crossed the narrow room and shared the bounty with his avian friend.

"Well, girl. Despite Luna's support, it's shaping up to be the worst-ever summer of my life. Voldemort's stopped sneaking into my head and showing me things that aren't real or making me feel emotions that aren't mine. But that's the _only_ good thing about my life now."

Hedwig accepted the food, chittered and clicked, and affectionately nibbled on his fingertips.

Despite warnings from both Luna and McGonagall, and alarm bells in his own mind, there was little Harry could do. The Headmaster held so many positions in education and government. He could use any one of them, or any combination, to do whatever he wanted, and Harry would be helpless to stop him. With his reputation and power, Dumbledore was a law unto himself. He could create laws or break them however he pleased. The twinkle-eyed bastard had done all of these in his quest to serve "the greater good."

Harry was still smarting from Sirius' death and the "prophecy" conversation he'd had with Dumbledore right afterwards. Both were burned into his memory. Those events, coupled with what he'd seen of the Headmaster's darker side, threw a new light on his own life, and why he had endured living with relatives who couldn't stand him. It also explained so much about all the strange stuff that had happened since he'd first laid eyes on Hogwarts.

Everyone said trouble always had a way of finding him. Perhaps they were wrong. Had _everything_ in his life been carefully orchestrated to shape him into Albus Dumbledore's personal pawn, to be used only whenever the crafty old wizard saw fit?

Harry was not yet sixteen years of age. He had thirteen months before he reached legal majority in the magical world. That left plenty of time for the Headmaster to lay out plans on top of plots mixed with intrigues and blanketed by diversions. Dumbledore would be even more obsessed with controlling Harry's every thought and action. The teen wizard could not predict what Dumbledore would do, let alone devise a way to block him. If Harry survived to reach his seventeenth birthday, which was in no way guaranteed, he'd have no say in anything, not even the method of his own death.

"Sirius ... Sirius is dead, so I can never go to live with him. The law says a werewolf like Remus can't be my guardian, and Dumbledore certainly won't let me stay with the Weasleys. There's no place I can go in the wizarding world," Harry muttered to Hedwig as he stroked the snowy owl's feathers.

"I could run away. The Dursleys certainly won't miss me, except when they need someone to slave for them. At first, it wasn't so bad. The Dursleys ignored me except to make sure I sent my letters on time. Over the last few days, they've started demanding I do chores again. The list gets longer every day. I don't mind the work so much; it helps keep my mind occupied. Saves me from thinking about how ruddy awful the last year has been. But now, Uncle Vernon's started to use a belt or his fists to 'relieve stress,' and he's drinking more than he used to. I heard him telling Aunt Petunia about problems at work. Something about missing inventory or money or something like that. It's set him off twice in the last four days. Even Dudley's walking soft around him, and Aunt Petunia's bending over backwards to keep him satisfied. The only reason Uncle Vernon didn't kick my door open tonight is because Aunt Petunia dragged him and Dudders out for a restaurant meal.

"If I did run away, where would I go? I can't find, let alone get to, the reapers' home, but maybe I could take an airplane to Japan. Chatting with Ichigo in the infirmary is one of the memories they let me keep. He didn't flat out say so, but I think he's different from the others. He mentioned being mortal, like it was something unusual. I could probably find him. I mean, how many orange-haired teenage boys named Ichigo Kurosaki live in a little Japanese town named Karakura? All I'd need to do is visit the schools until I find him. Better yet, I could look for his family's medical clinic."

Harry sighed, shoulders slumped in defeat, and shook his head. "Who am I kidding? Running away would only delay the inevitable. Between tracking charms, divination, scrying, and his international contacts in the ICW, the old bastard would eventually find me. I'd buy myself a few weeks, a month or two at most. And for what? He'd pull me back here and add even more bars to my jail. I'd be lucky to see daylight before he makes me go back to Hogwarts. Even then ... even then, what freedoms will he take away?" Harry chuffed and sneered. "Not that he's left many to begin with. I can't imagine what he'll do next to keep hold of his precious weapon. His martyr-in-training. His scapegoat and sacrifice."

Harry gave his owl a final tidbit then sealed the container. The food box and the letter-poster disappeared into a space beneath the loose floorboard under his bed. As he lay down, the springs squeaked and creaked. Long experience taught him how to spread his weight to decrease the amount of noise. Hands tucked between his head and the flat feather pillow, Harry listened to the raging storm, merging his unsettled emotions with nature's cleansing violence. Staring at the ceiling, he studied moisture stains on the plaster and tried to see magical shapes in the brown blotches.

_Thanks to the letter I wrote to myself, the reapers, and my memories inside the pensieve, I know what happened outside the castle. Both sides fighting. Terrible damage to Hogwarts and its grounds. The stinking haze of smoke from rampaging fires. Professor Sprout's greenhouse burning to the ground. Moody, trapped in a block of ice. Everyone siding with the strangers against Snape and Dumbledore. Snape, a dying boy draped over his arm, a wand at his head._

_I remember the green dome ... and Toshiro ... telling me about—_

Harry shuddered and squeezed his eyes closed. _Why did Dumbledore obliviate me? Did I see something dangerous? Was it because I met Toshiro? Did he tell me something that Dumbledore doesn't want me to know? Did I figure out what the old man and Snape were doing and try to stop them? I don't care so much about the details. I learned enough from Toshiro to fill in the blanks but ..._

_Damn it! It's INFURIATING to know I had a memory but someone stole it, and I can never get it back._

_It makes me think. According to Albus "many middle names" Dumbledore, I have a prophecy over my head. I'm destined to vanquish the Dark Lord with a power he "knows not." I'm the only one who can, or so he says. The question I have to ask is ... which dark lord is it ... Tom Riddle or Albus Dumbledore? Knowing my luck, it's both._

_After this last year at Hogwarts, after what you did to me, after what I saw you'd done to Toshiro, after the terrible battle you allowed to disfigure Hogwarts, I'll never forgive you, Dumbledore. This tailored martyr, your precious little weapon, has a mind of his own. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, I will defeat Voldemort, but I'll do it MY way, not yours. And you will get what's coming to you._

()()()()

For what must be the one hundredth time in nine days, Albus Dumbledore emerged from his pensieve more perplexed than ever. Even before he added everything he could recall since the battle, the pensieve's bowl was already half full. The vessel held eyewitness accounts from Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, and Mundungus Fletcher of the event outside the Leaky Cauldron, as well as every session with their captive. Albus had viewed every contact with the creature inside the homunculus, the fight with its would-be rescuer, and every individual combat between wizard and invader, everything up to that moment inside the Hogwarts infirmary when the intruders' ethereal gate vanished into nothingness.

He stared at the pensieve and pondered the situation. The shallow stone basin, lined with powerful runes and polished to a metallic sheen, held clouds of shimmering substance that was both liquid and gas. Memories. So many memories from every possible source.

With so much information, there must be _something_ of use. If only he weren't so tired and sore, he'd surely find what he needed.

On the positive side, he'd narrowed the foreign language spoken by the strangers to Japanese. Hoping to garnish valuable information, he cast three different translation charms on himself then reviewed every interaction stored within the bowl. On the negative side, he understood the words but without a context for reference, he could not comprehend their meaning. No matter how many times he viewed the events, he could not decipher anything of real significance. Even worse, he'd thoroughly examined the memories of every single person who came into contact with the strangers, however briefly, only to find their recollections were irrevocably altered.

With that thought, and of even greater positive note, he succeeded where everyone else failed. Despite the invaders' attempts to cover their powers and abilities, Albus Dumbledore clearly recalled every action, every truth they sought to hide.

_Has it really been nine days since the battle?_ Albus rubbed his sore eyes and straightened his spine._ It seems like both yesterday and an eon ago._

Nine days of deep thought, of fact-finding, of careful consideration regarding his every move. Nine days of dodging, bribing, or placating narrow-minded idiots who had neither the courage nor wit to see what had to be done. What only he could accomplish for the betterment of their world.

_I'll learn nothing more from the pensieve, at least while I'm this exhausted._

With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore sent the bowl back to its storage place. The Hogwarts Headmaster walked to his desk and sank into his throne-like chair. He heaved a heavier sigh, closed his eyes against a throbbing ache inside his head, and pondered his situation.

"Fawkes, old friend, would you sing a song to relieve my troubled mind?"

No soothing trill. No sympathetic chirrup.

Dumbledore looked toward the phoenix's perch. It was empty.

Memory rushed back, along with a torment sharp enough to snatch all air from his lungs. The broken bond wrenched his soul. Albus Dumbledore wailed and clutched his chest with both hands, humped over in grief.

"Fawkes! Fawkes, my soul's other half. Why? Why did you abandon me? For well over seventy-five years you've been my strength. You rode my shoulder with pride. We worked together to build a better life for all magickind, never doubting our actions or the paths we walked. You sustained my spirit every moment of every day. You supported me through harsh and brutal battles that would have otherwise overwhelmed me with despair. Your magical gifts saved so many lives, my own most often of all. How could you deny me over something this ... this ... necessary? Couldn't you see? It had to be done."

He laid his head on his desk and wept.

He was so very tired. His bed beckoned, but he'd find no rest in its warmth and softness.

Since the battle against the foreign invaders, his evenings dragged like winter molasses, each night an eternity with little or no sleep. Sunsets he'd once enjoyed were nothing more than harbingers of the long, dark hours ahead. The few times he dozed off, painful regrets, what-ifs and worst case scenarios plagued his dreams. Poignant phoenix song beat against his conscience. Phoenix fire seared his soul. His dreams once flowed with soothing, otherworldly refrains that bolstered his weary mind and strengthened his aging body. He now endured discordant avian stanzas of reproach, disappointment, and the irrevocable fracture of their soul bond.

Even the demands of his positions as Headmaster, Chief Warlock, and Supreme Mugwump could not remove the horrible ache.

Wiping salty tears onto his wrinkled sleeve, Dumbledore stared at the stack of papers on his desk and wished with all his heart that they would vanish into flame. How many letters had he sent, how many favors had he wasted, trying to find a new potioneer? All of the older, more experienced potions masters were settled into their careers and not drawn to accept a lesser position as a teacher, even at an institution as prestigious as Hogwarts. Due in part to Severus' rather harsh teaching methods, Britain held but a handful of younger witches and wizards who might need help finding employment in the potioneer's craft. A small handful, and every single one had declined.

As much as he hated the thought, he must look beyond Britain for suitable candidates. The very notion of accepting someone from Durmstrang, Beaubatons or, worse still, the Other Continents was a harsh blow to Hogwarts' pride and prestige.

Even worse, filling the DADA seat was all but impossible. Yet, if he failed, the Ministry would interfere once again. Dolores Umbridge had been bad enough, being an unqualified disaster of a teacher. He was still dealing with the fallout from her brief reign as Hogwarts' Headmistress.

The next person they sent might well be worse, not only for the students but for his own position, as well.

_If only Severus was here. I still need his help, both with the school and Tom, the current Dark Lord. How unfortunate that recent events required me to sacrifice his services._

_Recent events. Some of them were brought about by my own actions, much as I wish to deny it. Was I wrong? Did I choose the darker path? Were my motives less than pure?_

_As I look back at what I've done, I see where my conduct might be perceived as evil. I also see the motives behind all that I've accomplished. What I did was unquestionably self-serving, particularly in regards to the spirit inside the homunculus, but won't that benefit everyone? The stronger I am, the better I can protect the wizarding world._

_Those watching from the outside were deceived. Sheep, all of them, allowing physical appearances to blind them to the truth. They saw a tortured child. They did not see the false shell or recognize the dangers represented by the spirit within it. They did not see the menace or the possibilities. Possibilities that I alone can harness and use._

"Harry cannot face his destiny alone," he said aloud. "When his time comes to face Voldemort, he will need my help. And afterwards ... loathe though I am to do so ... I will do what I must to break the cycle of evil."

The Headmaster's expression sharpened. Doubt faded.

"The truth is before me. Every action was justified and pure. I did what had to be done. I gained nothing for myself. Fawkes only saw the outside. He didn't look deep enough into my heart to see the truth. It wasn't my fault. Fawkes failed to uphold our familiar's agreement, not I."

Dumbledore sat straighter in his chair. Firm resolve hardened his expression still further.

"What are my options from this point forward? The creatures inside the homunculi are beyond my reach, at least for the time being. My contacts around the world can search for monsters like the ones they fought in London. Where I find the beasts, I might find the beast handlers. By tracking their movements, I can narrow down the location of this 'magical enclave' they spoke of."

Albus rose from his chair and straightened his robes. Deep in thought, the Headmaster tucked his hands up his sleeves and paced around his office.

"My second and even more important objective: strengthen my hold on Harry Potter. He was far too friendly with the invaders, particularly those closest to the one they called Toshiro. I must curtail their influence on him. The boy's memory was altered, same as everyone else. I checked him more thoroughly than anyone other than that traitorous little bint, Lovegood. Still, there is a slight possibility they planted a seed of rebellion deep in Harry's subconscious. I must squash it before it has a chance to take root. I need the boy to remain malleable, ready to take my instruction."

Dumbledore's thoughtful meandering brought him to a window overlooking the nighttime grounds. Below and beyond, a moonlit ribbon of road stretched from Hogwarts' gates through the forest and down towards Hogsmeade. Even from the Headmaster's Tower, Albus couldn't see the village itself, but a crescent glow over the far woods marked its location. Scattered, low-hanging clouds mirrored the light.

"But how to do it? Between investigators, ministry officials and reporters, I'm under far too much scrutiny to act directly. I will need help. Alastor might be a possibility ... no. While he supports me against these creatures, he'd never deal with Harry as we must. Remus Lupin is an even worse choice. He would never stand for abusing the boy further than we already have. The same goes for any member of the Weasley clan. Fletcher would do whatever I asked, but the man's too loose-tongued when in his cups. He's even worse than Hagrid at keeping a secret. In fact, I can't think of any Order member who has the necessary ruthlessness to handle this responsibility. That leaves me but one choice." The smile that spread across Dumbledore's face was anything but benign. "Now that I think on it, he is the best option of all."

Albus turned from the window in a swirl of robes. The wizard drew his wand, pointed it at the cold fireplace, and created a blaze suitable for a fire call.

A flush of irritation marred his satisfaction. "Fawkes, where are you when I need you, you foolish bird? It was so much easier and faster with you around to carry messages."

Albus Dumbledore huffed and grunted as he knelt beside his office fireplace. He was much too old to crouch on a hard stone floor. How undignified he must look, squatting like a dog waiting to beg for scraps. The climb back to his feet would undoubtedly be an embarrassing, graceless and painful battle against aching bones and stiff joints.

Despite nine days having passed, he still suffered from magical exhaustion. The prolonged fight with that young, orange-haired devil wielding an obscenely large sword had eaten up his reserves. For two days following their duel, Albus was little more than a squib in terms of magical power. According to the memories he'd pilfered, Madam Pomfrey couldn't remember precisely why she felt strong resentment towards the Headmaster. Because of that feeling, however, she refused to provide potions to ease his suffering or to replenish his store of magical energy. She offered neither sympathy nor aid for his restless nights, not even a single dose of dreamless sleep potion. If this continued for much longer, he would bring the rebellious witch back into line.

Despite the irritating issues regarding his health, Albus was ready to put his revised plan into action.

He threw a pinch of floo powder into the flames and called, "Spinner's End."

After a long moment, a hawk-nosed face appeared in the flames. Even distorted by the method of communication, Albus could not mistake the loathing and contempt on the master potioneer's face.

"You have the unmitigated gall to contact me after what you did?" Snape snarled. "Wasn't it enough that you tossed me to the wolves at the first opportunity?"

"I know, Severus. I treated you ill, and I'm more sorry than I can say." Albus added as much remorse to his voice and expression as he could, supplemented by a sorrowful bob of his head to imitate shame. The Headmaster deliberately coached his body language to radiate contrition. A tiny part of his conscience that truly did regret his actions made the facade all the more convincing. "I truly had no choice. Surely you can see that. They had so much circumstantial evidence against both of us, yourself even more than me. I must hold onto every scrap of power and position in order to lead the battle against Voldemort. Believe me, Severus, my old friend. I will not abandon you."

Snape snorted hard enough to disturb the flames and put forth a fine puff of ash. "Don't waste your breath on a bald-faced lie. I know you too well, Albus Dumbledore. As proof of that, we both know you didn't fire call me to chat or apologize. What do you want?"

"I need your help."

"Of course. How foolish of me to ask." Snape's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "What possible use can I be to you? I can no longer teach. I can't use favoritism, bribes, or house points to isolate and misinform the students. I certainly can't spy against the Dark Lord or feed him false information. Except for my potions skill, I'm no longer valuable to him. He barely tolerated me as it was. During his first rise to power, I was a trusted member of his inner circle, but I haven't been summoned to a high-level meeting since his revival in the Little Hangleton graveyard a year ago. Once Voldemort learns I've been sacked from Hogwarts and that the Ministry is investigating my activities, I'll be lucky to escape with my sanity. There is a very real risk that he will torture and kill me within ten minutes of my appearance before him."

"There is that risk, I admit," Dumbledore said. "However, I believe the two of us together can find a way to mold circumstances to our advantage."

Snape scoffed. "Advantage? What possible 'advantage' could there be to this damnable situation? I can no longer function as the Dark Lord's spy within Hogwarts. He won't be pleased with that turn of events."

"True, he has lost your services in that role, but he must have other eyes and ears inside the school. There are unquestionably students, particularly amongst the sixth- and seventh-years, who look to him as the one who will lead them to a brighter future. A future with themselves as undisputed lords over the lesser masses."

Snape sneered but, rather than agree with Dumbledore, he said nothing.

"Severus, how much do you remember of events that have taken place over the last two to three weeks?"

A wary frown pinched Snape's face, drawing his eyebrows closer together. He repeated, "Remember?"

"Do you recall a battle outside of the Leaky Cauldron two Fridays before end of term, the day after Sirius Black was killed? You saw two oddly dressed males. One of the two was an adult, the other a white-haired, adolescent-seeming boy. They used strange weapons and unfamiliar powers to battle a pack of monstrous beasts on the streets of London."

Severus thought long and hard before reluctantly admitting, "I have a ... vague ... recollection of ... something important happening that week." The potions master's hard, beady black eyes narrowed. All of his attention adhered to the elderly headmaster. "Are you saying I've been obliviated?"

"In a sense. Not by magic, but by an unknown, chemically induced method. Severus, do you recall how you and Alastor captured the boy and brought him to Hogwarts? Of discovering that he was not human at all, but rather a partially corporeal spirit occupying a rather splendid homunculus? The four days where you and I took turns interrogating him, hoping to learn the source of his powers and a way to harness it ourselves? The arrival of the creature's confederates and the battle that nearly destroyed Hogwarts?"

"These things really happened? I don't recall much more than capturing what I thought might be an unregistered or emerging metamorphmagus with an unusual magical ability. I imprisoned him in a cell beneath the Slytherin dungeons and questioned him. You were there ... on the final day, I believe. You counseled me to end the brutality and attempt to gain the information through more passive means. I remember a battle but not enough detail to describe what happened. Weren't Potter and his bookends outside when the battle started? He interfered with ... something I needed to accomplish. I can't ... picture it clearly. It's as if there's a thick fog between my mind and a clear recollection."

"Precisely as I feared," Albus said with an all-knowing nod. Ribbons of kindness and pity skated through his mind. They vanished as quickly as they appeared. "What you recall is consistent with memories I've observed from every other witness who was 'obliviated' by the creatures."

One of Snape's eyebrows arched upwards, a sign that Dumbledore's spy had put all of the pieces together. "But not you. Somehow, you held onto your memories."

"Yes."

"How did you do it?" Snape demanded. "My occlumency shields are as strong as yours. Stronger even, since I must hide my thoughts from the Dark Lord. Yet these _'creatures'_ as you call them wiped every scrap of useful information from my mind."

"They thought themselves so clever." Albus smiled his superiority then grimaced as he shifted to take some of the weight off his bruised knees. There really was no way to kneel on stone without some level of pain. "Fools, every one of them. Seeing the lengths they employed to force your obliviation, I wasn't about to let them do the same to me. It required a careful balance of resistance and vulnerability, as well as shielded compartmentalization of key recollections, but I succeeded in protecting my mind. As far as they knew, I was the same as the others whose minds had been altered."

"The memories you retained. Do they contain enough information to be of any use to us?"

Dumbledore made sure to hide his satisfaction even as he crowed victory within the privacy of his thoughts. _Yes! I have you hooked, Severus Snape. I have you dangling on the end of my line. All I need do is reel you in._ None of the Headmaster's venomous thoughts showed in his placid expression. _Voldemort may have little need of you, but there are a few more tasks you can do for me before I let the Dark Lord have what's left._

"Step through, Severus." Dumbledore grunted, moaned, and muttered curses beneath his breath as he levered his aching body off the floor. The movement was as clumsy and humiliating as he'd anticipated. "I have memories within my pensieve that will shed some light on your true activities over the last six days. Once you've viewed them all, we have much to discuss."


	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

**A/N: This is a short one compared to recent chapters. Got a new job at my uni, one with a LOT less stress and anxiety. Health problems have limited my mobility and endurance, but I'm coping well enough. Hopefully, now I can get back to writing. Thank you all for being so patient with my slow updates. A very, very special thank-you to Cressida-Renee for her hard work helping me edit this chapter and for keeping me on track with the story. Bless you, Cressie!  
**

A vicious pounding on his bedroom door brought Harry out of an unsettled sleep. He bolted awake, shuddering in terror as his waking mind wrestled control away from his subconscious.

"Wake up and get dressed." An extra snap of irritation made Petunia's voice, heard through the closed door, more acidic than usual. "I want breakfast ready in a half-hour, and there's a terrible mess in the yard for you to clean up. Get up, you lazy freak!"

"'m'wake, Aunt Petunia." Harry swallowed, hoping to control the quiver in his voice. "I'll be right down."

Petunia chuffed and gave the door a final thump. As his aunt returned to the ground floor, Harry ran trembling fingers through his sweat-tacky hair, fell back onto the bed, and closed his eyes. The mental pictures were as terrifying in retrospect as they'd been during the height of his nightmare. It took some time to separate the mishmash into real and imagined horrors.

Sirius had fallen through the Veil. Toshiro had not. Harry had fought Death Eaters in the Ministry, but they had not blasted Hogwarts to its foundations and killed everyone inside.

Someone had been tortured near to death beneath Hogwarts, but Harry was not the victim, nor had he been forced to watch. Or participate.

Dumbledore and Voldemort were not conspiring to kill him. Independently, yes, but not as part of any mutual aid society.

Luna Lovegood had never danced naked in a moonlit forest glade surrounded by long-haired fairies who loved to pirouette, while a demented house elf wearing a dozen hats played music on a kazoo. If she had, Harry did NOT want to know about it. Though, being Luna ... better to leave that part of his dream untouched. Better every way around as far as Harry was concerned.

Best to push the mental images of his dream to the back of his mind for now. He had other things to think about at the moment. Like, what had Aunt Petunia meant about a "terrible mess in the yard"? Harry put on his glasses, untangled his legs from the bed covers, and moved to the window that overlooked the back yard.

Broken tree limbs crisscrossed the grass. Heavy rain and wind had flattened every single flower, washed away the mulch, and stripped the rosebushes of nearly every petal and leaf. What little soil remained inside the flower beds' border stones looked more like moist goo rather than true dirt. Leaves, twigs, and assorted trash—cups, wrappers, bags, newspapers, and at least one bottle—littered the yard. Water stood in the lower sections. More than a dozen boards either leaned drunkenly or were outright ripped off the fence. One of the larger detached branches added to the damage to the divider between #4 and #6.

Harry bumped his forehead against the glass and groaned. The tree from which the branch originated grew in the Dursley's yard. It would undoubtedly fall on him to remove the limb and repair the fence.

_I remember now. Last night's storm._

Harry offered up a fatalistic sigh. If the front looked half as bad as the back, he'd be spending the entire day outside.

Leery of his aunt's anger, and with Vernon's temper so uncertain, Harry wasted no more time changing out of his nightwear and into clothing suitable for work in the yard.

The next hour held nothing of any significance, other than a few minutes where Vernon, suffering with a mild hangover, was more vicious than usual, to the point that Dudley left the table after only two helpings. Fortunately for the residents of #4 Privet Drive, Vernon left for work on time without any swings or punches being thrown.

Harry spent the morning picking up debris and salvaging what he could from the plantings. Petunia had insisted he begin in the front—that being the first thing anyone observed regarding the Dursley's home. Personally, Harry didn't see any difference. Whether he started in the front or the back, the amount of work remained the same. No one would notice or care either way, since every homeowner in the neighborhood faced the same situation. The storm damage was significant and would not vanish in a few hours without a lot of hard work. If the roofing company van parked in front of #3 was any indication, some houses had suffered more than others.

Petunia called him in around eleven with a curt demand that he clean up and prepare a tray of finger sandwiches for her Lady's Committee Luncheon. With no Dudley to snitch on him—his cousin being off somewhere with his gang—Harry scarfed down enough food for himself while his aunt occupied herself in the upstairs master bath.

Harry had just hung the dish towel on the oven door's handle—tri-folded and perfectly straight, as per his Aunt's expectations—when the telephone rang. He leaned sideways to better see up the short hallway that led past his old bedroom (the cupboard under the stairs) and onto the front foyer. Whether he answered the phone would depend on if Aunt Petunia decided to respond to the jangling bell.

Wearing the latest in faux fashion, armed with her purse, a sealed container of precisely partitioned cucumber sandwiches, and a head full of gossip that simply _had_ to be exchanged, Petunia Dursley paused with her hand on the front door latch. She turned to face the kitchen, a scowl marring her already unpleasant face, but did not release the knob.

"Answer it and find out who it is," she told Harry. "Don't tell them I'm here until I'm certain it's someone I wish to speak with."

Harry gathered up the handset and said, "Dursley res—oh, hey Dudley."

Petunia's expression brightened. She hurried back to the kitchen, placed her items on the table, and snatched the phone from her nephew's hand. Having expected the move, Harry stepped clear in time to avoid being trodden over.

"Hello, Duddikins. Whyever are you calling? I thought you were at Piers' house playing video games. … What's that? Well, I've already readied chicken—roast? No, chicken stew and dumplings, with mushr—but … but, Duddlidum, I have my meeting this afternoon and there wouldn't be enough time to stop by the butcher's. On top of that, your father didn't leave me any money like he usually does. We can have roast and potatoes tomorrow, after I've had a chance to … well, if that's what you want, that's what we'll have. I'll find a way, Diddydum. Go have fun and … Dudders? Dud—_hmnf_, lost the call. Must have been a bad connection."

Petunia hung up the receiver, took a deep breath, stiffened her spine, and picked up the phone once more. A few seconds after she finished dialing, she said, "Hello, Nancy. Is Vernon in his office? Yes, I'll hold. … Hello, dear. How is your workday going? … Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps the afternoon will … Ah. Yes. Yes, I did call about something in particular. Dudley asked that we have roast and potatoes tonight, but unfortunately, I don't have a roast thawed. ... No, dear. You didn't leave any … Yes, I understand you can't come home to bring me the money, but I have my committee meeting this afternoon, so I thought I might send Harry to get it? He can buy the meat and have it ready for tonight. Is that alright with you? … Yes, that's true, but I don't think he … yes. Yes. I'll tell him. Thank you, Vernon dear. I'll see you tonight. Have a good afternoon."

Harry watched his aunt hang up the phone once more. Having heard her end of the conversation, he was prepared when she commanded, "Change out of those filthy yard clothes and take the city bus to Grunnings. Vernon will have money for you. After, you'll go by Freemarket for a large roast and fixings. You've cooked enough to know what my boys like. I'm off to my meeting, so take the spare key." She pointed to a small hook tacked onto the wall next to the phone, from which dangled a single door key. "I'll expect everything to be ready at the usual time, so don't dawdle, is that understood?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry nodded, glad at least to be free of the yard work for the day.

"Vernon says to have the receipts and change ready for him when he gets home. That includes a reckoning of anything you take from the change jar to pay the bus fare."

_Oh, joy. Won't tonight be fun?_

One small bit of good luck came Harry's way. He only had to wait three minutes at the stop on Magnolia Crescent for the No. 26 bus. The ride to the stop nearest the drill company took 30 minutes, and the walk from there only 10 more. Harry paused outside the red brick wall that separated Grunnings from the pedestrian walkway, girded his mental loins, and passed through the gates.

The clock on the lobby wall read 12:29 p.m. when Harry Potter stepped out of the summer heat and into the cool interior of Grunnings' administrative offices. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the boring interior hadn't changed at all since the last time he'd been there. He had only been allowed to visit his uncle's place of business a few times, and never since learning he was a wizard.

He'd been nine years old the year his aunt and uncle had been forced to bring him to the company Christmas party. Petunia hadn't been able to find anyone to babysit Harry that evening, Mrs. Figg being with her own family for the holidays. Even with the novelty of being allowed to attend his first Christmas party, Harry had found the place to be dead boring. The whole evening, Petunia had kept him tucked away in a corner while Dudley was shown off proudly by Vernon. Every time Uncle Vernon's secretary brought him something to eat, Dudley would take it from him. Dudley had even stolen his little Christmas stocking full of candy and toys the children at the party had been given on their way out.

Harry knew better than to try to get it back from his greedy cousin, but for some strange reason, Dudley had found himself ill on the way home. Vernon and Petunia chalked it up to the boy eating so much rich food. Vernon complained that he would be having a word with the catering company the next day about the quality of their service and threatened to send them the bill for cleaning the noxious mess out of his car.

Harry ignored the ultra-modern chrome-and-glass display cases that fought with the older, rough-mortared, red brick walls. The cases were filled with every type, size and shape of drills, historically preserved as proof of the company's longevity and prosperity.

Personally, Harry thought the current Grunnings product line would make a better first impression. The history display could wait for later. But what did he know?

A short lift ride brought him to the ninth floor. He walked up a plushly carpeted corridor, past glass-walled offices and seating areas designed more for impression than for functionality. He passed through a gilded archway and into the main office proper. A strategically placed reception desk protected the inner offices, behind which sat Vernon's secretary, Nancy Riggin.

Behind her, a ponderously large set of double doors, fine walnut panels polished to an oily sheen, barred access to the inner sanctum. An ornate brass name plate on the right-side door proclaimed "Vernon Dursley, Director."

"Hello, Mrs. Riggin," he said to the stout, blonde woman who manned the desk. Her steely demeanor screamed 'approach at your own peril.' _Can't blame her for being hard-nosed,_ Harry thought. _After all, her main job is to guard the Gates of Hell from anyone who dares trespass. Though, honestly, who would want to?_ "Do you remember me? I'm Harry. Harry Potter. Petunia Dursley is my aunt."

The woman's expression softened noticeably as she smiled and replied, "Why, yes. I remember you. The company Christmas party. What was it, five-six years ago? Has it really been that long? Goodness, you've grown. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. And yourself?"

Mrs. Riggin said, "I'm quite well," though she aimed a wry glance toward her boss's door. Harry could see that she really would like to vent some of her frustrations but didn't dare take the risk of anything getting back to Vernon Dursley.

"I quite understand. Is Uncle Vernon in?"

"Yes, he is, but … well …" The older woman relaxed her stiff posture and smiled in a weak attempt to cushion her next words. "He said to tell you he's currently at lunch. He asks that you wait in the park across the street. He'll bring the money out as soon as he has a moment."

_Translation: it's too much trouble to leave the money with his assistant. Better to make the freak wait in the hot sun for an hour or two or three—however long he thinks I deserve. He'll come out when it's way too late to run the errands and do the cooking that I'm needing the money for in the first place.__ Dudley will whine about how he's half-starved to death because of the wait. __I'll catch it from Aunt Petunia and again from Uncle Vernon for the same reason, even though it's Vernon's fault I'm late in the first place!_

Harry returned her smile, which had turned rueful and quite apologetic. "I see. Thank you, Mrs. Riggin."

"I'm sorry—"

_She feels horrible about this,_ Harry thought, _but what can she do? No doubt she's endured Uncle Vernon's bad temper on more than one occasion, working as his secretary for so many years._

"Don't be. I quite understand. Thank you again. Please let my uncle know I'll be across the street whenever he's ready."

Harry took the lift back to the ground floor and made his way to the small rest area across from the drill company offices. The space wasn't large enough to truly earn the title of "park," being little more than a half-lot squashed between a bakery on the left and steel manufacturing facilities on the right and rear. A plaque on a pedestal praised the magnanimous donation of land by someone named Ethan Renquist. Harry reckoned there was nothing noble about it—the lot was too small to build anything worthwhile. By donating the tiny plot to the city, Renquist got rid of a tax-heavy albatross around his neck and made himself look good, all at the same time.

Still, the town of Little Whinging put _some_ work into the project. Two tall shade trees offered relief from the sweltering summer sun. A picnic table (wooden but bolted onto a concrete slab), water fountain, and two teeter-totters provided the right atmosphere without requiring too much money or maintenance by the city. Paper bags and pastry boxes from the bakery filled the trash bin on the corner. Broken twigs and loose leaves littered the damp grass, evidence of the previous night's foul weather.

After drinking his fill from the public fountain, Harry sat on the bench of the picnic table set in the shade of a London plane tree and settled down for a lengthy, boring wait. So long as he stayed hydrated and didn't sit in direct sunlight, the wait for Uncle Vernon would be uncomfortable but not unbearable. If it got too bad, he'd visit the bakery long enough to cool off, but he'd have to keep any such visits brief. If Harry wasn't in the park when Vernon arrived with the money, there'd be hell to pay.

Having worked all morning cleaning up storm debris, it wasn't long before the subliminal hum of active machinery, the drone of traffic noise, and the susurration of wind through the trees lulled Harry into a light doze. Wisps of slightly cooler air brought occasional relief from the oppressive heat and dried some of the sweat that accumulated on Harry's skin. The scent of fresh bread, cinnamon, sugar, and vanilla from the bakery masked a portion of the smog and metal odors of the neighborhood, and also made his stomach growl.

A sharp crack in mid-distance—familiar but alien to his current location—brought Harry Potter awake in an instant, hand already reaching for his wand.

_That sounded like someone apparating into the area. Who? Where?_

Mindful of a very real danger of Death Eater attack, especially this far from the wards around Privet Drive, Harry drew his wand from its notice-me-not forearm holster and sank to his knees behind the scant protection of the picnic table. A pair of men loaded crates into a lorry in the nearby steel yards. Scattered pedestrians strolled on the sidewalk, all moving away. One car whizzed past. Harry saw no one that might be the source of the noise.

_Was it someone from the Order? It couldn't be. They'd have followed me from the beginning. And speaking of ... why aren't Dumbledore's faithful drones around to protect me? To tell me I should run home where I'll be safe?_

_Did I dream the noise? No. That was definitely the crack of apparition. There's another magic-user nearby. Damn it, where—_

Movement in the narrow alley between the Grunnings administration building and one of the company warehouses caught Harry's eye. The shape resolved into someone dressed all in black ... tall ... dark hair ...

Harry hissed. His lips drew back to reveal teeth clenched in rage. _Snape! What is that greasy-haired bastard doing here? At GRUNNINGS of all places!_

As Harry watched, Severus Snape drew his wand from beneath his robe's left sleeve, likely from a holster similar to Harry's own. With a sharp swish and swirl, the former Hogwarts professor transfigured his wizarding clothes into a reasonable approximation of muggle clothing—nondescript black slacks, a charcoal, button-down shirt, and a black blazer. The look was definitely 1970's—uncommon but not as attention-grabbing as wizarding robes.

Before the teen could decide whether to confront the wizard or continue to hide, Snape marched out of the alley and into the drill company's administration building. Harry's mind raced with this disturbing new development.

_This can't be good. Snape HAS to be here because of Uncle Vernon. But why? What could he want? Is he here for his own reasons or did Dumbledore send him? Is this his first visit? Second? More?_

A shudder shot up Harry's spine, leaving him in a cold, stiff sweat.

_This could explain Uncle Vernon's temper. Maybe it isn't just problems at work. Maybe ... maybe he's being influenced. It makes perfect sense. Dumbledore wants me weak, pliable, under his control. How better than to have my 'loving family' do all the work for him?_

_I'm going to bet Snape is using dark spells of some kind on him, anything from mild compulsions all the way up to an Imperio. Uncle hasn't said anything about being bothered by other 'freaks,' so he isn't aware of being bespelled. If Uncle Vernon knew other wizards were visiting him, I wouldn't be able to leave the house. Given the mood he's been in lately, I'd be lucky if he didn't beat me half to death._

_Here's a thought. Is Snape doing this for Dumbledore, or is he acting on his own? He hates me, not only for my resemblance to James Potter but for me, personally. It'd be just like him to manipulate Uncle Vernon. Nothing would make that greasy git happier than to make my life an even deeper hell, especially after what happened in our last Occlumency lesson. And since it's a muggle doing the work, who would think to accuse him? He's sacked from teaching at Hogwarts, so there's nothing to hold him back anymore except ... maybe ... Dumbledore._

_Should I go in? Stay put? Run home? Whether Snape's here on Dumbledore's orders or acting alone, there isn't a lot I could do to stop him. If he's working for Voldemort, he might've brought some Death Eater friends, and I just can't see them yet. They may know I'm here, they might not. If I show myself now, I'd put not only myself but everyone in the area in danger._

After the disastrous events at the Ministry of Magic, ultimately caused by Harry's brash charge-to-the-rescue, think-about-it-later actions, he now found himself thinking much more thoroughly about this situation. A poor decision could have far-reaching, permanent results.

()()()()

Severus Snape, potions master and former professor at Hogwarts, strode into the ground floor lobby of Grunnings Drills and headed towards the bank of lift s. His ground-devouring stride evidenced a desire to finish his business and leave as soon as possible.

The latest meeting with Albus left a bitter aftertaste in the potion master's mind. Decades of experience as a spy against both Light and Dark taught Severus to sense manipulation despite all evidence to the contrary. Something about Dumbledore had set off every one of Snape's personal alarm bells.

All the positive points were present: contrition, regret, determination to push ahead with their plans to protect the wizarding world, and righteous anger against those who dared impose their will on others—all wrapped up in a desire to make amends. The old man presented his evidence in chronological order and answered every question without hesitation. He smiled at the right time. Frowned, grimaced, and nodded on cue. Listened to the younger wizard's suggestions or ideas and gave them careful consideration. Albus and Severus appeared to be in 100 percent agreement on every fact, decision, and issue.

Snape could not point to one single thing that would justify his unease, but he felt it just the same.

Exhaustion kept him from thinking too deeply on the matter. Three hours of sleep couldn't counteract the restless turnings inside his head or reconcile the thousand and ten second-hand memories with his _own_ (apparently fake) recollections. That he was being used to further Albus Dumbledore's personal agenda went without saying. That was true even before the entire sordid saga unfolded.

Now, Severus Snape had to find the hidden hook before it pierced his flesh and left him dangling, either as bait or as a sacrifice.

The lift doors opened with a grating screech. To Snape's ear, it sounded for one brief moment like a squalling cat.

As the lift ascended towards the ninth floor, Snape's fingers moved over his face. Other than a few bald patches scattered around his scalp, every other sign of the mauling was gone—no open wounds, no scars, no loss of vision. Severus Snape vividly recalled (in real-time memory and re-viewed in Albus' pensieve, as seen from Dumbledore's perspective) the stand-off on the main Hogwarts steps. Claws shredded his face to the bone. Teeth ripped out his hair and gouged his flesh. Long curls of skin tore away, and hot blood flowed from his scalp downwards. His ears rang with the screams of an enraged feline determined to inflict maximum damage.

_If I ever tolerated cats before that day,_ Snape snarled within his thoughts, _I loathe them now. I will find that werecat someday, and when I do, I'll make a belt pouch out of her fur and cut up what's left into potions ingredients!_

The lift opened. As he moved up the corridor, Severus reviewed Dumbledore's instructions regarding Vernon Dursley. Reinforce the muggle's dislike of Harry. Confine him to Privet Drive and isolate him from his friends. Wear the boy down with hard work, insufficient food, and verbal abuse. A little rough handling would be acceptable, but Dursley must not seriously harm the boy. Make it clear to Harry via his uncle: fear of intervention by Dumbledore himself is the only thing holding Vernon in check.

While Severus Snape didn't care that Dumbledore had decided to take his manipulation of Potter to the next level _per se_, he was somewhat surprised that the Headmaster was now willing to include the manipulation and control of the boy's muggle relations.

_It's time to re-think my position in this war,_ Snape reckoned. _Dumbledore is growing increasingly unstable, especially now that Fawkes has abandoned him. His power has waned and will never wax again. As for Potter, that brat couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper sack. His victories to this point are due to others doing the work. That, or plain dumb luck._

_We have clearly deviated from whatever 'prophecy' originally dictated this timeline. I must position myself to survive what's to come. Who can say whether the winner will be Potter or the Dark Lord. One thing is certain—the victor will not be Albus Dumbledore._

_With this in mind, how do I influence events to achieve the outcome I desire? Do I commit to the Dark Lord, or do I hide behind Potter on the basis of his uncanny ability to survive and, against all odds, win? Whichever faction comes out on top, it will begin here, with Vernon Dursley._

The woman at the desk looked up with a tight smile and said, "Yes? May I help—"

A casual wave of his wand and a wordless spell cut her off in mid-greeting. With barely a gasp, the woman slumped across her desk, trapped in a magic-induced sleep. Without so much as a single glance towards her, Snape threw open the doors marked "Vernon Dursley, Director" and stepped inside.

()()()()

_It's been fifteen minutes. If this were a Death Eater raid, something would have happened by now._

Harry Potter remained behind the picnic table, wand at the ready, though he let himself relax into a more comfortable single-knee kneel as opposed to the previous heel-sit squat.

The gate to the main building swung open ahead of Vernon Dursley, who used both hands to shield his eyes from the harsh sun and squint in the direction of the park. Harry put away his wand discreetly and stood so that his uncle could see him. The boy's right hand remained close to his left forearm, just in case he needed his wand in a hurry.

Vernon galumphed his way across the street until he stood within three feet of Harry. He thrust out his hand, all but shoving the rolled money into Harry's mouth.

"Here. Get what you need for supper, and I'd best not hear a single word that you've slacked off any," Vernon warned, his voice sharp and accusatory. Harry accepted the pound notes. "I'll be home at the usual time. The food'd best be ready and on the table. And I want receipts for every single thing, including the bus fare!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Under normal circumstances, Harry anticipated his uncle's moods by various factors, among them body language, time of day, amount of alcohol consumed, and (most importantly) likelihood of witnesses. His attention was on storing the money safely and straightening his shirt. It being the middle of the day, in a public area, and no alcohol involved, Harry missed the flash of mad fury in Vernon's eyes, the clenched fist, and the wide swing.

Light exploded in his head. His conscious mind blinked.

When Harry reconnected brain to body, he lay flat on his back, glasses gone, face flaming and left eye swollen closed. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

"Let that be a warning, boy. I'm tired of your disrespect. No more, you hear me? You live in _my_ house. You'll follow _my_ rules, or you'll get that and more besides. No more threats from your freakish friends. No more wand-waving or talk of m-m-m—any of that! I'm taking back my house, my family, _my LIFE!_"

Vernon spun around and marched back to work. It took Harry several minutes to accept what had happened and several more to convince his body to move. Questing hands eventually found his glasses which, by some miracle, were unbroken, though the left earpiece was bent. Crawling to the picnic table on his hands and knees, Harry used first the bench then the table to pull himself to his feet. He gingerly touched his face, winced at the flair of pain, and pulled his hand away. The tips of his fingers were dotted with blood.

_What ... what just happened? He's never ... not in public and never a part of me that someone might see._

Mindful that he dared not go out to the market with blood dripping off his jaw, Harry ripped a section from his undershirt and wet it in the fountain. He cleaned away the worst of the evidence and stopped the bleeding, though he couldn't hide the bruises and swelling.

As he washed away the blood, his sluggish mind picked up speed, trying to make sense of what just happened.

_Snape. Was it something he said? Something he did? _His stomach knotted in anger and worry, just thinking about it.

Harry made his way to the bus stop and waited.

The next hour passed by in a blur punctuated by concerned passersby asking: 1) what happened? 2) was he alright? 3) did he need a doctor/the police? Or variations of the theme. Harry escaped the well-meaning strangers by claiming to have already reported the mugging to the constables. He was perfectly fine, thank you, no need for concern.

He left the bus at Tanning Green (the stop closest to Freemarket) and, for one brief moment, toyed with the idea of returning to Privet Drive, stuffing his trunk and getting the hell out of Durskaban. Harry sighed and put away the dream once more. His reasons were as valid in the daytime as they'd been the previous night and no different than every night when he wistfully thought of running away. He had no place to go where Dumbledore could not find him.

_Better get a move on, Harry. Supper won't cook itself, and I'm not about to risk Uncle Vernon's temper, not after today._

After buying everything he'd need to fill the required menu—again having to endure the innocent, well-meaning intrusions of strangers (both in the market and on the return bus ride) regarding his health—Harry walked towards Privet Drive, arms loaded with bags of groceries. With nothing to occupy his thoughts, his mind bought forth memories of the night three years ago when he had stormed out of the Dursley's home, dragging his trunk behind him. Of setting off in a rage with no idea where to go. Of first laying eyes on his godfather, though he hadn't known it at the time. Which spiraled everything back around to Sirius dying in the Ministry battle.

A combination of emotional exhaustion, summer heat and physical discomfort sapped his strength and will. Determined to rest a few minutes, Harry jaywalked across Magnolia Crescent to the neighborhood park, this one larger and better maintained than the half-lot next to Grunnings. Stumbling to the nearest shaded bench, Harry dropped the bags on one end and slumped onto the seat. Falling onto his back, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander while his body recouped some of its lost energy.

When had his life become more surreal than any soap opera? Grief kept every negative event, every loss and regret, at the forefront of his mind. He wanted to run away but, again, where could he go that no one could find him? The Burrow? The Weasleys would welcome him, but Dumbledore would be there within hours to collect him. Last summer, the old man wouldn't let Harry go to the Weasleys even though he had been kidnapped, tortured, and almost killed by Voldemort.

The trauma of witnessing a fellow student's murder hadn't swayed Dumbledore's opinion on the matter. Sirius' death was not likely to bring about any greater sympathy. If recent events were any judge, none of the softer emotions resided within Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Appealing to something that didn't exist would be a waste of time.

Yes, Harry could contact Luna, who had a way to contact the strangers. He could ask them again for asylum.

Harry sighed. The idea drifted away. They'd already denied him. Why would they change their minds? Even the younger members of their enclave were strong enough to defeat some of the finest fighters in the wizarding world. What did he, Harry, have to offer a group with that kind of power?

_For the first time in my life, I wish I was more than 'just Harry.'_

A dense shadow eclipsed the sun, blocking the dappled rays that filtered through the trees. Harry breathed deep, held it a long moment then pushed the air out of his lungs.

_It'd just be my luck if another summer squall were to strike Little Whinging while I'm blocks from home without an umbrella or raincoat._

He was totally unprepared to hear a voice from directly overhead.

"Hello, Harry."


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

**A/N: A tremendous thank you to M.M. Chris for helping to correct an error concerning one of my original characters. I now know that D'Tournay is not the correct way to spell the name - the nobility D' is used before a vowel, such as D'Artagnan. Before a consonant, it should be spelled "de." From this point forward, he is Field Marshal Giliad de Tournay. If time allows, I will edit previously posted chapters. In the meantime, please accept the revised spelling. M.M.: THANK YOU! This is what constructive critique is all about!**

**I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. Real life drama, health issues, work, school, fanfic to read, the usual excu - er, reasons. Nor will my HP/Naruto Shippuden xover "Sabaku no Harry (Harry of the Sand Waterfall)" take its place. RotFH will not be abandoned. Quite a few future chapters are already written. The connecting bits are giving me a little trouble.**

**To let you know, my term paper on "King Arthur/Medieval Chivalry in Japanese Anime: Uses and Abuses" is due on May 1, so that will take up a lot of my time in April. It's the first term paper I've written in ... umm ... 30 or so years? (That's no joke, btw.) I will post again as soon as I can. As an apology, I present you with this chapter (the longest so far at 12,000 words!), giving you a look at how Toshiro deals with the aftermath of his captivity. Thank you for hanging in there with me.**

**SPOILER ALERT: There is a brief mention in this chapter of events that are taking place in the current manga arc. These events concern Isshin Kurosaki's pre-series history within Soul Society. To quote Quirrel the Squirrel: "Thought you ought to know."**

Never had Toshiro Hitsugaya been so grateful to step through the doors of a Senkaimon, to breathe deep of reishi-laden air free of the pollutants that saturated the world of the living. Though it had been full dark when the group departed Hogwarts, warm sunlight now bathed his skin, along with a light breeze subtly perfumed by apple blossoms, honeysuckle, lavender, jonquil, hydrangea, and freesia. For one precious moment, every trouble and care slipped away, leaving him unfettered. It felt so good to be home.

Turquoise eyes blinked, unprepared for a view other than the welcome comfort of the Soul Society.

The flowery paths, tree groves, and stained glass windows of Avalon's entry garden were lovely, but they weren't what he'd mentally prepared himself to see. He wasn't quite sure why he expected to find himself in Seireitei. In his head, he'd known they would journey to Camelot. He had to consciously twist his perceptions to match reality.

The little captain bit back a sob of frustration. He wanted nothing more than to enter his personal quarters, fall face-first onto his bed, and do all in his power to forget everything.

_My feet hurt. I ache all over, and I can't stop shaking. I want to curl into a ball and scream at the world to leave me the hell alone, but I can't. I've worked too hard to overcome my young appearance to throw it all away by showing weakness. If it were only the Avalonians and not my personal peers, I might..._

_No, I'm deluding myself. It doesn't matter who sees me. Whether I'm with friends or strangers, I'd respond the same._

_Such a different arrival than my first visit to this garden. It looks the same - the same apple trees, torches, groupings of cultivated flowerbeds, crushed stone paths lined with green grass, and stained glass windows. It's still warmer than comfortable for a full shihakusho, though I feel it less in shinigami form than I did while I was in my gigai. Yet...if everything is the same, why do I feel like I'm lost in an alien world?_

_The garden hasn't changed. The difference...is inside of me. I feel like a foreigner in my own skin._

As he stepped off the raised flagstone platform set in the middle of the great courtyard, spears of pain shot from the soles of his feet straight to his brain. What should have been a slow, careful descent turned into a clumsy stumble, fit for a toddling child taking its first wobbly steps. He would have ended with his face planted firmly against the ground had it not been for Ichigo Kurosaki's lightning-fast reflexes.

"Whoa, easy there, Toshiro. Lemme help you." Ichigo hadn't snatched at him harshly or hurt him as he tried to help him find his footing, and yet…

_Hands...someone's hands...grabbing...pulling..._

_...touching..._

"Get away from me!" he barked in a raspy, wounded voice.

Without conscious command, Toshiro threw off Kurosaki's hold with a hard physical push. A bludgeon of spiritual pressure sent everyone within six feet skittering a minimum six yards away. It shredded the lawn and scattered fragile flower petals to the four winds. The elder, stronger reapers kept their feet, but Hanataro Yamada and Field Marshal de Tournay's red-haired young aide spun in the air and landed hard on the grassy verge, winded, disheveled and dizzy.

Straining for air and drenched with sweat, Toshiro landed in a three-point fall but managed not to collapse completely to the ground.

"Remember yourself, Captain Hitsugaya," Byakuya Kuchiki's measured voice cut through what might have evolved into a full-blown panic attack. "Don't let your pride blind you to an inescapable reality. You are wounded. Whether you welcome it or not, you need assistance. Take what is offered. To do otherwise would be the actions of an immature child."

Ichigo could not let the irony pass. "Like you can talk about someone _else's_ mulish pride?"

Kuchiki cut back, "Who better?"

However harsh or unfeeling the words, Toshiro latched onto them like a lifeline. _Kuchiki is right. I can't behave like a child. There will be time enough to deal with...what happened...how I feel...later. For now, I must hold myself together until I reach my bed. A bed. Any bed. Private quarters or medical wing, I don't care so long as I can get off of my feet and go to sleep._

Hitsugaya adamantly refused offers of help from Matsumoto, Kurosaki, and Abarai as he struggled to rise. Toshiro bit back a groan and swayed - he refused to show more signs of infirmity than were absolutely unavoidable - but remained upright.

_Kami, that is hard._ Step..._I'm moving._ Step..._Another, good._ Lurch..._Steady. If I do it right, I'll get there faster._ Step..._Yes, I can do this._ Stub..._Damn it!_ Stumble-step..._It hurts, but I can't stop._ Ste-

Sound roared in his ears like blizzard winds moaning through jagged caverns of ice. Colors paled, muted, and melted away. Vaporous shadows blanketed everything.

Like the end of a tragic play, a dark curtain descended, lights faded, voices fell silent, and movement ceased. He never heard anyone call his name, nor did he feel the hard ground or the hands that sought to help.

()()()()

"No...please...stop, no more no more...don't hurt her, please, I-I-I'll tell you what you want to know...Ju-just don't...don't...PLEASE! NO MORE!"

Toshiro Hitsugaya thrashed across his bed, crying out in his sleep, his voice desperate as he battled nightmare demons. With a final, hard snatch of breath, he shot into a seated position and stared wide-eyed in every direction. His heart threatened to _shunpo_ out of his chest. It required every scrap of strength to pull air into lungs crushed under the weight of fear. The need to run, to hide, to _escape_, overpowered his conscious mind. For an ageless second, he was _Back There_, with _Them_.

A loving voice filled his mind and dispelled a portion of his night terror. _You are safe, my bearer._

_Where...Hyorinmaru?_

Toshiro looked around, this time for something other than wizard tormenters. His gaze slid over the impersonal furnishings, two closed doors, and a bay window. Nothing caught his eye until it set upon the zanpakuto that leaned against the bedside table. He snatched up the sword and held its sheath against his chest in a trembling, bone-white grip.

_Hyorinmaru. If you're with me, I'm not There...not home but not There, either. Where am...Ah. Avalon...Camelot. ... I...I remember._

Hyorinmaru asked the obvious question, _Another night terror?_

Toshiro's voice shook slightly as he whispered, "Yes. A variation of the usual."

_I tried to wake you,_ the zanpakuto said, his voice heavy with regret,_ but you were too deep to hear me._

"I'm sorry." Toshiro realized that his cheeks were wet. He scrubbed the moisture away with the heel of his hand, desperate to erase the shameful evidence of tears.

_Neither of us has anything to apologize for. We will work through this as we have all things. Together._

"Yes. Together." He spoke the words and held the positive thought close before him like a shield. A small part of him, however, acknowledged the truth: what wizards broke would not be repaired with pretty words and simple promises.

Toshiro studied his surroundings for a third time, this one with more attention to minute details. The room was tastefully decorated, a proper if cosmopolitan quarters for a visitor of officer's rank. Fog hung close to the ground; it swirled in uneven patches and undulated with the slightest movement of air. Eastern sunbeams through the window refracted through the ice crystals that covered every surface, bejeweling the room's normally tranquil, royal-blue-and-cream décor. Fern frost adorned the window panes and the glass of a full-sized standing mirror in an abstract blend of graceful arcs, serpentine swirls, and snowflake designs.

In the hallway beyond his closed door, someone scrambled and yelled. Three bangs against the walls, the clang of a metal tray, a jingle of shattered glass, and one loud whump, quickly followed by a yelp and pained "Bloo'y 'ell!" Two photo frames on the wall hopped out of alignment.

Toshiro winced and closed his eyes in mute apology to the unfortunate reaper. Apparently, the arctic environment extended beyond the confines of his room.

_I didn't wake fast enough this time. How many mornings does this make since returning to Avalon? Two? Three? It wasn't so bad the first few nights. I've never enjoyed staying in the infirmary, so it was easy to sleep light and wake quickly so that I didn't affect the outer environment. Last night...in this room...without the smells, the sounds, or the movements of the medical personnel to keep me alert...I wasn't so fortunate._

_What I wouldn't give for one full night of uninterrupted sleep._

While Toshiro had been thinking, and willing his spiritual pressure back under control, he rubbed his forearms absentmindedly, and scratched at his chest and neck. As with every awakening since his rescue, memories of his time in the wizards' dungeons raised a sensation of slime on his flesh. The blood and filth were long since washed away and the last of his wounds healed by Hanataro Yamada, Captain DuLay, and the other Avalon healers. His logical mind knew this. His emotional mind, however, refused to believe. The compulsion to shower, to be _clean_ again, could not be reasoned away.

He untangled the sweaty-tacky bed linens from around his legs and hips. A crackle of ice top-coated the fibers.

Toshiro slid off the bed and stood up, grateful once more that his feet were fully healed and carried his weight without complaint. The feel of grime and filth on his skin, in his hair, and over every surface only continued to grow stronger, eating at him. Disrobing as he walked, he cast away the dirty pajamas and stepped into the en suite bathroom. He set Hyorinmaru on the counter then gathered towels, soap, shampoo, and washcloths from the cupboard above the toilet. No sooner had he slid the shower door closed and turned on the water than a wave of dread washed over him - if someone attacked him now, he was defenseless.

Yes, he was a kido master, butwizardshad the power to seal away that ability. Being unconscious when _They_ had coated his hands in the damned blue energy that had prevented any use of kido, Toshiro had no way of knowing - could the blue encasements be cast quickly during battle or did it take time as part of a ritual? Toshiro had seen first-hand how quickly a wizardcould cast spells using his wand. Without knowing for certain, he dared not rely on hado for attack or bakudo for defense.

Even without kido or zanpakuto, he was not helpless. In the right hands, towels, shampoo or a bar of soap could be deadly. The room was filled with items that could become projectile weapons - glass, porcelain, floor and ceiling tiles, metal frames and pipes, light fixtures, or chunks of wall. His body itself was a versatile and lethal weapon. His heart knew this. His head was a different matter entirely.

Even as his thoughts swirled and tried to assuage his irrational feelings of vulnerability, he couldn't escape the physical sensations of being exposed, of being watched, or of being surrounded by enemies. Toshiro recognized the paranoia for what it was. Recognition, however, did not mean relief. Only one thing could promise that.

He opened the stall door and grabbed Hyorinmaru, clutching it once again to his chest. Toshiro deliberately squashed any guilty thoughts for using his zanpakuto as, essentially, a baby blanket to ward off imaginary monsters. The water would not harm the ice-based zanpakuto, and having the sword within easy reach eased his mind. With Hyorinmaru in his hands, his breathing settled back into a more normal pattern and his heart lessened its incessant pounding.

Under normal circumstances, Toshiro rarely indulged in hot showers. Tepid, sometimes slightly higher than lukewarm temperatures typically satisfied his cold nature. The number of times where he'd turned the water to hot could be counted on one hand - all but one of those times having taken place in the last 72 hours.

He didn't have much choice. Roiling emotions made it hard to regulate his spiritual pressure; anything less than scalding would freeze before it reached his body. Even then he had to consciously maintain control, else the hot water would turn to snow and the glass shower stall could shatter in the sub-zero atmosphere. His gracious Avalonian hosts had already replaced the glass in the shower stall of his hospital room twice. He really didn't want to have to ask them to do so again.

Toshiro scoured a patch on his chest with a suds-laden washcloth until the flesh turned an abused rose color; any harder and he'd leave a fresh bruise to replace one that had so recently healed. The act was morbid, sick, dangerous, deranged, any one of a thousand words for "wrong," but he could not stop the compulsive scrubbing.

"This isn't a sane thing to do," he spoke aloud to his zanpakuto in pained frustration. "It's not healthy for body or mind, but I can't help myself. I feel...polluted." His voice wavered as he vented. "The word 'defiled' is more often applied to victims of rape, but isn't that what was done to me? There was no sexual component, but they took me by force and held me against my will. They demanded something from me that I could not...would not...give them, so they tortured me for it. They plundered my soul and violated my territory. They stole every scrap of strength and replaced it with weakness."

_They tried to break you, yes,_ Hyorinmaru intoned firmly, _but they did not succeed. You stayed strong. You never broke._

"Did I? Hyorinmaru, did I really? Part of me knows, feels proud. I never gave them what they wanted. But another..."

Toshiro's voice lessened to a whisper then broke as he leaned against the wall of the shower stall and rested his head on his forearms. The water cascaded down his back, its path diverted by the sheath hung diagonally over his spine. A dim memory of petitioning Death to take him filled the forefront of his mind. Didn't that constitute giving up? Didn't he break the moment he surrendered his soul?

"I feel everything and nothing at all," he continued dully. "My body is hyperaware, but I'm numb. My mind won't sit still, but I can't think clearly. It's like I'm trapped in a battle mode that I can't turn off. I don't know what to think...what to do...Should I feel more? Less? Or nothing at all? I'm so confused!"

A voice from the outer room called, "Shiro-kun?"

Ukitake. Of course. This morning's reaction had extended beyond the confines of his room. Someone was bound to check on him. Who better than the gentlest, most compassionate member of his peers?

"DuLay-_taicho_ was bad enough about poking at me to share my feelings," Toshiro muttered even as footsteps approached the half-open bathroom door. "I don't need anyone else digging into my head. I want them to leave me alone."

"Shiro? Is everything alright?" Ukitake called again, concern evident in his voice.

_Yes. Everything is perfect. Never better. Life is wonderful. Now go away._

Toshiro sighed then answered out loud, "I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."

Hitsugaya sluiced away the suds, rinsed his hair one final time, and turned off the spray. It didn't matter whether or not he felt clean. No amount of soap and water would remove the sensation of dried blood and muck.

Escaping the stall required that he break through a thin forest of hoarfrost. Serrated ice daggers fell to the floor, making much the same sound as broken glass.

Ukitake's voice held a note of acute anxiety. "Toshiro?"

"I'm _fine_, just dislodged some ice."

Hitsugaya wrung out the wash cloth, dried his body, and toweled moisture out of his hair. He put away the soap and shampoo. He moved what ice he could into the shower stall so that it could melt without damaging the tile floor. Brushing his hair and teeth killed an additional three minutes. He took care of other business and washed his hands most thoroughly.

One can only do so many things in a bathroom. He soon ran out of excuses. With a final, bracing breath, he tightened the towel around his lower half and opened the door. He still carried Hyorinmaru, though this time in his hand rather than across his back.

"I've laid out a clean uniform," Ukitake reported as soon as Hitsugaya came into view.

The elder shinigami stood next to the bay window, his body angled to see outside and still hold Toshiro in his peripheral vision. Ukitake's gaze snapped to the sheathed zanpakuto, nearly as long as its bearer was tall, and the soaking wet sash that dripped water onto the pale blue carpet.

A blush warmed Hitsugaya, the ruddy hue all the more noticeable due to his even paler-than-usual skin coloring. Toshiro felt exposed before the older captain in spite of the extra-large towel draping him from waist to mid-calf. Why hadn't he wrung out the sash before leaving the shower? Now Ukitake knew he'd taken his zanpakuto into the stall with him. Once again, the image of a child with a security blanket jumped into his mind.

Unable to meet the senior reaper's all-compassionate gaze, Toshiro gathered up the offered clothing, muttered a curt thank you, and disappeared once more behind the bathroom door.

_A month ago,_ Hitsugaya railed within his mind,_ I wouldn't have thought twice about dressing in the same room as Captain Ukitake. I've visited the hot springs ten thousand times and never once felt threatened, even by strangers. Why do I hide now? Why do I feel embarrassed? Is it...do I feel...shame?_

To distract himself from unpleasant questions, Toshiro asked, "How is Shihoin?"

"She's fine," Ukitake assured him. "So is everyone else who participated in the rescue mission."

"Rescue - " Hitsugaya whispered. _I needed to be 'rescued' like a child escaped from a nursery who has stepped into rush hour traffic. How pathetic._ Louder, he said, "Please thank everyone again for me."

"I will. Shiro - " Jushiro began, hesitantly.

"Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss, Captain Ukitake?"

After a long, pregnant pause and an audible sigh, Ukitake answered, "Most of the party from the Soul Society will be returning home this afternoon. Lieutenant Matsumoto has requested permission to remain in Camelot until your recovery is complete, and Ichigo Kurosaki insists that he won't go home until you do." Ukitake offered a light chuckle. "They are both quite stubborn where you are concerned."

As he adjusted the hakama to fall more comfortably around his legs, Toshiro commented, "I'm surprised Captain Kuchiki didn't return as soon as the mission was complete."

"He and Shunsui wanted to make certain there was no connection between the wizarding world and Sosuke Aizen. Fortunately for us all, they found no evidence that Aizen is even aware of the magical society, let alone actively courting support or resources from the wizarding populace."

"Hnn." Toshiro pulled up a memory from what felt like so long ago, only to find that the recall was harder than he'd expected. Was it really less than a month since he'd attended the mission briefing with Head Captain Yamamoto? "The Arrancar that have appeared in the Avalonian patrol area, I'd forgotten."

"Having Aizen assault other societies of the Seven Heavens would be bad enough, though any attacks might have the positive benefit of gaining us additional reapers and resources to use against him. However, if he and the dark wizard Voldemort were to join forces, the result would be very bad, for Harry's two worlds _and_ ours."

Toshiro nodded, even though Ukitake could not see him, and said, "Agreed."

Silence stretched like a dried rubber band that threatened to snap with unpredictable results. Without the distraction of speech, Hitsugaya finished dressing far sooner than he'd hoped. It felt strange, almost wrong, to slide his arms into his captain's haori; the material hung uncomfortably stiff and heavy. He buckled the starflower broach to the cool green sash and settled Hyorinmaru across his back. The weight of the katana both comforted and reassured him, the only thing that felt right about his attire. It did much to boost Toshiro's confidence, enough for him to exit the bathroom with a renewed sense of control, both of himself and his situation.

During the Squad 10 captain's second visit to the bathroom, the captain of Squad 13 had moved away from the window. Jushiro Ukitake now stood in the center of the room, hands buried up the folds of his sleeves and feet braced wide apart. His expression screamed of reluctant determination.

"I know how you hate prevarication," Ukitake said before Toshiro could make any comment on his defensive posture, "so I'll come straight to the point. You're having problems dealing with what happened to you. This isn't something you have to - or should - face alone. You have friends, people who love you and worry about you. We're here to help."

"I don't need help," Hitsugaya insisted, forcefully keeping his voice steady. "Nightmares and the like are normal after something like this. I would think you'd be more concerned if I _didn't_ have them."

"That's true enough," Ukitake admitted that one point, though with great reluctance. "However, denying that a problem exists is a dangerous thing."

"I don't deny there is a problem," Toshiro replied stubbornly. "I deny that I need any outside help to deal with it."

"Toshiro - "

"I appreciate what you're saying, Captain Ukitake," Hitsugaya struggled to admit that much, "as well as what you're trying to do. However, I do not need help. I just need time and to be left alone."

Ukitake sighed and subtly shifted his stance. "I see. Perhaps you're right. It may be too soon. Very well. I won't press you. Just know we're here whenever you're ready."

The elder captain paused in the doorway for a final look back. Toshiro easily read fondness and worry on Ukitake's face. In that moment, Toshiro could understand how strangers might mistake the elder reaper for Toshiro's father. In addition to their mutual white hair and pale skin, the two captains shared similar ethics of honor, hard work, and persistence. Their main difference: Ukitake wore his empathy for all to see, while Hitsugaya buried his under a veneer of icy calm.

Hitsugaya refused to show any sign of vulnerability. Even acknowledging his fellow captain's concern would betray too much. The response was ingrained through decades of defending his power and status against older shinigami. He'd been a captain for so short a time - between Hitsugaya's apparent youth and the circumstances under which Isshin Shiba abandoned his position in Soul Society, Toshiro's ascension from Third Seat to Captain of Squad 10 was anything but secure.

His negative experience in the wizarding world only cemented the reaction. He must prove to everyone, himself most of all, that he was in control.

"We'll be leaving in an hour," Jushiro said. "Will we see you in the departure garden?"

Though he desired nothing more than to retreat into one of the private parks to train and meditate, courtesy dictated that Hitsugaya show some appreciation for the people who risked so much to save his life. "I'll be there."

()()()()

Slightly less than an hour later, Toshiro joined his fellow shinigami in the Senkaimon garden. The other Soul Society reapers were already gathered. Most of them stood with Giliad de Tournay, Aina Sigursdottur, and Anissina DuLay at the base of the flagstone platform. Ichigo Kurosaki and Rangiku Matsumoto stood off to one side, talking to Daniel Gilbreathe.

General conversation ended with his arrival. Toshiro felt the inquiring eyes of every reaper in the garden upon him. He squared his shoulders and approached his comrades, refusing to show the slightest inkling of response to their pointed staring.

"I have spoken to Yamamoto-_Soutaicho_," Byakuya Kuchiki reported to the smallest captain of the Gotei 13, speaking English out of deference for the Avalonian reapers. The move was strictly a nod toward good manners, since all reapers understood every language. "While you recover from your injuries, you are to continue your original mission. Our own investigations could find no connection between Aizen and the world of wizards. This, however, does not preclude any attempts by the traitor to test Avalon's responses or resources, or explain why he is sending his monstrosities into regions far outside of our regular patrol territory. You have forged the beginning of strong relations with members of the Avalonian hierarchy. If all goes well here, it may be that the Head Captain will send you to other agencies of the Seven Heavens to petition for additional resources and martial aid."

"Understood. Please give Yamamoto-_Soutaicho_ my regards." Toshiro's voice projected strength and presence, without the tremors he'd feared might betray the turbulent emotions that roiled in his gut. He removed a small disk from a pocket up his left sleeve and presented it to the nobleman. "Here is my report. Could you see that it is delivered to the Head Captain right away?"

Kuchiki accepted the data disk and slipped it into his own sleeve pocket. "I will do so."

As the Avalonian Senkaimon appeared and its doors opened, Hanataro Yamada mumbled a soft goodbye and offered his hopes for the Squad 10 captain's continued health. The young healer bowed low and backed away, leaving the officers to exchange their farewells in private.

Predictably, Yoruichi Shihoin wasted no time in stepping forward, her long purple ponytail bouncing against her back. "Quite an adventure we had, huh? I don't know about you, but I'm glad it's over." she began breezily then continued in a more serious tone. "The good thing is, you're back with us where you belong. Accepting what happened is going to be tough, but you'll find a way to deal with it." Yoruichi turned towards the gate but looked back over her shoulder. "When you see Luna, tell her I said 'konnichiwa'."

Hitsugaya frowned in confusion. "What possible reason would I have to see her again?"

Shihoin winked, replied, "Who knows?" and sashayed away to bid farewell to the Field Marshal and his officers.

"Take care, my friend." Jushiro Ukitake was the next to speak. His eyes radiated a gentle warmth that could not completely hide a submerged layer of concern or the desire to pull the young prodigy into a reassuring hug. "We'll see you when you return home."

"If you need anything," Shunsui Kyoraku waved over his shoulder as he followed Ukitake to share final words with de Tournay, "call. But not too early, so remember the time difference, okay? I need my beauty sleep."

Byakuya Kuchiki rounded off the officers' parting words in his usual, businesslike fashion. "I will give the Head Captain your report. Unless something extraordinary happens or new information is discovered, keep him appraised with the usual mission communications."

"Understood," Hitsugaya nodded.

"Hey, Matsumoto!" Renji called from where he stood within two feet of the precipice gate. "Take care of this idiot, will ya?" He jabbed a thumb in Kurosaki's direction. "And Ichigo! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"That leaves me a _lot_ of room, thanks!" The orange-haired substitute shinigami made exaggerated shooing motions. "Now get outta here before I decide to cut off that pineapple and make a table decoration out of it."

Renji huffed and sneered, "Like you could ever - "

"Abarai," Byakuya said as he turned away from the Avalonians and approached the gate, "we are leaving."

Properly chastened, Renji hopped through the Senkaimon on the heels of his commanding officer. The others followed soon after. Within moments, only de Tournay and his people, Kurosaki, Matsumoto, and Hitsugaya remained.

As the Senkaimon disappeared, Toshiro bowed once in respect toward the Field Marshal then turned and walked away without saying another word. He deliberately dodged his lieutenant's outstretched hand and refused to acknowledge responsibility for either Rangiku's hurt countenance or her tiny whimper of dismay. He did not answer Kurosaki's, "Oi, Toshiro!"

He would not allow himself to be coddled or suffer through others' pity for him.

_I am ice. I am solid. I am unyielding. I am shielded. Protected. Strong. I need no one but myself._

Hyorinmaru said nothing, which somehow made Toshiro Hitsugaya's soul feel even colder.

()()()()

Toshiro flowed through a level two kata in the training salle. While simple and graceful, the movements required a degree of muscular control. The beginner's exercise was designed to build endurance and increase stamina when wielding a weapon, whether it be a knife, axe, shuriken, senbon, nunchaku, war fan, staff, spear, or zanpakuto. It was far beneath the skill level of a shinigami captain, but Hitsugaya sometimes used it to center himself and calm his thoughts, an easy warm-up in preparation for a more demanding workout.

By performing the kata, he sought tranquility of mind. He hungered for it in a way that even Toshiro admitted might not be healthy.

It wasn't working. Try though he might, he found neither calm mind nor forgetfulness.

With a heavy sigh, he sat on his heels, with Hyorinmaru across his back, and examined the training hall used by Avalon's Division Six reapers - Captain Sigursdottur's Strength-Based Battle Squads and Patrol Group. She had shown him the room the day before during a tour of her division.

The room saw plenty of use, as evidenced by the dents, tears, scratches, gouges, cracks, and scorch marks scattered all around the cavernous chamber. The six windows showed three different styles of frames, proof that they'd been broken and repaired at various times. The time being almost three in the morning, he saw nothing but black night beyond the curtainless panes.

Similar in some ways to the training facilities back in Seireitei or the dojos he'd visited when on extended missions in the World of the Living, much of the room's accoutrements and standing equipment were familiar, if not the kinds that he personally used. The few he did not recognize, he could guess their purpose by how they were configured. Weight and resistance machines lined one wall. Another held racks of training weapons, from knuckle cuffs and knives meant for dainty hands all the way to one Herculean sword. The latter hung dead center of the display, like an oversized divider - hand weapons on the left and thrust or thrown weapons on the right. The sword was greater than 50 cm (almost 20 inches) wide, as thick at its center as the width of both his hands together, and stood more than twice Toshiro's height. Adding to that the elongated hilt and Double-S crossguard, the colossal weapon must weigh a minimum of eight kilograms, or nearly 18 pounds.

_Such a sword must be for display only. No one could possibly wield that monster, either due to its size or its cumbersome weight. Most sealed zanpakuto weigh slightly more than one kilogram. A few, like Rukia Kuchiki's Sode no Shirayuki, weigh even less. In shikai state, depending on its configuration, a zanpakuto might weigh one or two kilograms more. Kurosaki's Zangetsu, as large as it is, can't weigh more than four kilograms.(1)_

Personal lockers and an open shelving unit with towels, first aid supplies, spare clothing, oils, liniments, and bottled water shared the last wall with padding, armor, folded mats, punching bags, fencing dummies, and wooden, multi-armed Wing-Chun dummies for practicing martial arts. The central floor, where he currently sat, was a solid surface of interlocking pads intended to limit injuries.

A stretch of his senses discovered passive kido shields on the floor, walls and ceiling, safeguards against serious injury in the event of a sudden hard impact.

A tiny corner of Toshiro's mind once more labeled himself a coward. He'd retreated to the training hall to escape everyone, particularly his friends and their ardent attempts to expose his feelings to the world. He did not want to "open up," "express himself," "share," or any other words to that affect. He wanted to forget, not to remember.

After the other Soul Society shinigami returned home, he'd sought out the mess hall in hopes of a quiet meal. Matsumoto found him halfway through a plate of...something Western...some type of tubular meat with heavy onion sauce and...perhaps potatoes?(2) He'd found the dish hot and filling and continued to eat it because he was hungry. The taste, however, would never put it on his favorite foods list, and the heavy grease was not sitting too gently on his stomach.

Not helping matters were his lieutenant's continued attempts to talk to him, and her frequent inquiries about his health and needs. Matsumoto's repeated attentions toward him dredged up old memories of himself at a much younger age and their first meeting in the sweets shop in Junrinan, where she had interfered on his behalf after witnessing his being treated rudely by the shopkeeper. From that first day to the present, she was always there, concerned for his welfare and witness to his never being strong enough to stand up for himself. She could not possibly know, but her perceived kindness smothered his spirit and hurt his pride.

He'd eaten enough to blunt his hunger, so he had no reason not to excuse himself when Field Marshal de Tournay approached with a request for a short meeting. Any excuse to escape his lieutenant's cloying attentions was a welcome one.

The discussion took an hour and consisted mostly of de Tournay reporting another Arrancar attack in South Kensington, an upscale suburb on the southwest side of London. Three mortal deaths were reported due to a collapsed townhome. A three-man squad of grim reapers, assisted by Ichigo Kurosaki, arrived in time to destroy the Arrancar before it could demolish a campus filled with grade-schoolers.

After the meeting, Toshiro retreated to his quarters for a short rest - again, interrupted by unsettled dreams and an inability to turn off his situational awareness. As he'd said to Hyorinmaru during his morning shower, he felt as though he lived in a constant battle-ready state, waiting to be attacked. He could not relax enough to allow for a decent sleep.

He spent the afternoon, supper, and most of the evening dodging or enduring Kurosaki's and/or Matsumoto's well-intentioned devotion to his mental health. By the time he could plead exhaustion and once more retreat to his room, he was one short breath away from exploding in their faces.

Again, sleep refused to come. Rather than toss and turn in his bed, Toshiro decided to get in a little workout in the hopes that exhaustion would bring him dreamless relief. Unfortunately, even that respite had proven elusive. Thus he sat on the padded gym floor and stared at the walls, trapped within his circular thoughts.

Hoping to stumble upon some miraculous epiphany that would return his life to what it was before his horrific experience at that wizard stronghold, Hogwarts, Toshiro Hitsugaya settled into a meditative stance and sought his inner mindscape.

Under typical circumstances, his inner spirit world was windy and cold but soothing to him in every way. This time, he found it anything but peaceful. His soul plane was violently agitated as a storm lashed the landscape. The world snapped, popped, and cracked, under attack by enormous snow tornados. Giant icicles hurled through the air like spears cast from catapults. A blizzard wailed in full white-out, while high winds raced in ten thousand different directions and stirred the atmosphere to a froth. Ice flows crashed against one another with enough sound and ferocity to overwhelm even the blizzard's howl. The ground beneath his feet pitched and yawed with no recognizable pattern.

Thrown from his feet by the traitorous ground, Toshiro saw nothing beyond two feet in any direction and heard nothing over the cacophonous noise. He hadn't seen it anything close to this since his childhood, before he had heard his zanpakuto's voice and learned Hyorinmaru's name.

Toshiro yelled in surprise. Miserable and alone, too broken to cry, he crawled to the scant protection of a rocky outcrop covered in snow and sobbed in grief without the release of tears. Why? Why, even here, in his own private, safe spirit plane, could he not find a measure of peace, a tiny bit of relief?

His mind's image of himself was not the strong, uniformed taicho who commanded an entire squad of shinigami and wielded one of the most powerful zanpakuto in the entire Seven Heavens. He was once again the Junrinan orphan clad in a worn, indigo yukata - a worthless street rat who fought for every coin, every bite of food, every tiny pleasure, every scrap of respect. A child with no blood family, no friends, and no hope.

Ice shattered, and the near ground trembled. The air pulsed like the rhythmic beat of the planet's heart. Something huge leaned over him and blocked the blizzard. A dense shadow cast his shelter into twilight. Something had found him - something that moved and breathed.

Toshiro stiffened, his body locked in dread. What new horror was his inner spirit world going to assault him with now? Turquoise eyes snapped open.

Ten thousand iridescent scales filled his vision. All shades of snow and ice - white, silver, lavender, mauve, teal, blue, and purple, from tundra to arctic to sea ice - shimmered before him, each more beautiful than the next. Toshiro's gaze traveled up, to the joint of a deceptively delicate wing, and higher still until his eyes met those of the great Chinese ice dragon.

Hyorinmaru.

The relief he felt could not be described. It left him both light-headed and trembling. Quick behind that, however, was shame. How could he forget? He was inside of his own mindscape. Nothing except himself and his zanpakuto's spirit form could ever manifest in this place. Skin red with more than windburn, Toshiro hugged his legs tight to his chest and buried his face between his knees.

"Ahhh, yes. No doubt, I am terrifying to behold. Your reaction is understandable. How could you not be dazzled by my beauty and fearful of my great tonacity?"

The ice dragon's over-the-top and patently artificial conceit made Hitsugaya chuff once before he could stop the sound. He'd never heard Hyorinmaru sound so pompous. Come to think of it, he rarely ever heard Hyorinmaru joke - a trait they shared in common. Still, enough of the Junrinan street rat with the sharp mind and biting tongue remained buried deep inside Toshiro's spirit to recognize what the dragon meant to do. Even knowing that the false attitude was intended to help free the shinigami from his dark emotions, Toshiro still felt an urge to poke the dragon with a long needle to let the hot air escape.

"There's no such word as 'tonacity,' Hyorinmaru," Toshiro said as he dared once more to look his friend directly in the eye. "Which do you mean, tonicity or tenacity?"

"Both."

Toshiro laughed again - a weak and watery sound but humor nonetheless - and allowed his body to uncurl.

"You found me."

His voice alive with unconditional love, Hyorinmaru replied simply, "Always."

A long silence followed. Toshiro rested his cheek against one knee as he sorted through a million colliding memories and feelings. Hyorinmaru gave him the time to think things through before finally speaking, his bass voice rough with devotion. In this place, they were free to speak face-to-face instead of mind-to-mind.

"As hard as it is to accept," Hyorinmaru said, "some of what your friends say is correct. Denying that such mercurial emotions exist is dangerous. Pent-up feelings are volatile, as you can see. They tend to explode at the slightest provocation. This can be dangerous, not only to yourself but to those around you." The dragon shifted to block more of the wind. His voice softened as he stated, "I understand why you came here. You would never lament in the outer world."

"How could I?" Toshiro replied, his voice hitched with emotion. "If I did, they'd all think I'm a child who can't handle his duties and responsibilities, either as a shinigami or a Captain."

"Perhaps they would think so, perhaps not," the ice dragon said in return. "The truth of it doesn't matter. Here, in the solitude of your innermost mind, you cannot lie. Not to me and not to yourself. Anything can be said, any emotion expressed, any doubt aired. You can sing, shout, scream, cry, and yell as much or as little as you need. You can smash rocks or scour the earth bare. There is only the two of us. There is no need to stay strong. No need to hide."

Toshiro's ragged breath fogged the air before his face. He stared up into the ice dragon's reptilian red eye and saw neither pity nor disappointment, only unwavering devotion.

"I am your sword and your shield," Hyorinmaru said. "I am your zanpakuto. We are two souls in one body. I could not help you in that evil place, but here...Toshiro Hitsugaya, my dear friend...here, in this safe realm, let me be strong for you until you can once more be strong for yourself."

With a strangled sob, Toshiro pressed his forehead into the space between the great ice dragon's eyes. Trembling arms wrapped around the snout and clung tight. He burrowed close, desperate to find a safe haven free from night demons and self-doubts. The long, sinuous body coiled around and around, close but not constricting. Ice wings overlapped and curled to form a cocoon. All external sounds receded, secondary to Toshiro's harsh weeping and the dragon's slow, deep rumblings.

Nothing existed beyond Hyorinmaru's protections. In his sheltering embrace, Toshiro Hitsugaya had nothing to fear.

As the zanpakuto spirit had said, he could never lament in the real world. Here, he could. And did.

()()()()

Ichigo Kurosaki yawned, stretched his shoulders until they creaked, and scratched the side of his neck. On his right, Rangiku Matsumoto continued walking. The Squad 10 lieutenant showed no signs of having been roused from her bed in the middle of the night.

_Probably because she hasn't been,_ Ichigo thought with understandable cynicism. _That would be me. What am I doing here? It's nearly four in the effin' morning._

"Rangiku, are you sure about this?" he asked as they walked the hallways of Camelot, retracing every step of the tours they had been given in the hope of finding Captain Hitsugaya somewhere along the way. "He's not going to appreciate our hounding him. He's already made it clear he doesn't want to talk about things right now. Worst case, it's going to make him even harder to approach."

"It's the middle of the night, and he's not in his room." Rangiku said with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Neither are we." The underlying bite of sarcasm went right over the female shinigami's head.

"I just want to make sure he's alright."

"Hey, I'm worried about him, too," Ichigo stated, "but badgering him non-stop hasn't worked for us the past few days. What makes you think it will work tonight?"

"We don't even have to let him know we're there," she replied urgently. "This is for my peace of mind."

"So why do you need me?" Ichigo yawned again with a deliberately loud, over-the-top exhale. "I was sleeping pretty good, y'know."

"Sleep is overrated."

"You didn't answer my question."

Matsumoto opened a door and stuck her upper half into the darkened room beyond. She closed the door, moved further down the hall, and asked in a distracted voice, "What question?"

Ichigo sighed and shook his head. Some people just couldn't keep track of their own conversations.

"You really think he'll be here?" Ichigo studied the wood-paneled corridor lined on both sides by smoked-glass doors. Being the middle hours of the night, the ceiling lights provided just enough illumination to prevent accidents, with only one panel in three lit. This left patches of light and shadow along the entire length of the interior passage until the hall came to a T-bend. "This looks more like administrative offices than someplace where Toshiro would hang out, even when he's trying to dodge us."

Rangiku's voice reflected her mounting anxiety. "We've searched all of the nearby gardens, the Senkaimon courtyard, the medical wing, and the offices and training rooms for Divisions One and Five. The only officers who have given us tours have been Field Marshal de Tournay's lieutenant, Captain Rousseau, and Captain Sigursdottur. I seriously doubt my captain would be in any of the living quarters. The mess halls and shops are closed, and he wouldn't leave the reaper's headquarters to enter Avalon's version of Rukongai. That leaves Division Six. I can't think of anywhere else he might be."

By that point, the pair had reached the T-bend. To the left was another long hall no different than the one behind them except for an exit sign visible over the door at the far end. To the right, up a short corridor, was a single set of windowless double doors. Their attention caught on the single figure standing near those doors, holding one panel open just enough to look inside. Bright light flowed from the room beyond.

"Gilbreathe-_taicho_?" Rangiku called.

Daniel Gilbreathe motioned them to come forward even as he held the door further open.

The chamber was a large, well-stocked and use-worn training room. Toshiro Hitsugaya sat on his feet in the center of the workout floor, his zanpakuto across his back and eyes closed in deep meditation. A four-inch thick ring of ice encircled the young captain five feet across the floor in every direction. The air that flowed from the room was considerably colder than that of the corridor. A mini-blizzard made from ice flakes, snow and fog swirled around him.

The instant she set eyes on her captain, Rangiku leaped into the room and cried, "_Taicho!_"

Captain Gilbreathe caught Matsumoto by the arm before she could take another step. In a voice worthy of his captain's rank, he ordered, "Stay where you are, lieutenant."

"But - " Even as she protested, her distressed eyes never left the object of her determined search.

"He's in a very delicate place right now," Gilbreathe said. "Breaking him out of it without care or consideration could do more harm than good."

"What 'delicate place' are you talking about?" Ichigo asked, bewildered. "It looks to me like he's just meditating."

"He is," Daniel replied. "The problem is, he's so deep that he can't maintain full control of his spirit energy. Shinigami with elemental-based zanpakuto, like our young friend here, are especially dangerous to disturb while in deep meditation." He pointed to the mini-storm as proof. "He needs to surface on his own. You can approach him then."

"How long will it take?" Rangiku asked, overlapping Ichigo's, "When will we know he's been under too long?"

The Avalonian gave the pair a vexed look. "You know him better than I do. Your guess would be more accurate than mine."

The trio stood just inside the doorway and watched the storm intensify. The ice sheet around him crept like a glacier across the matted floor, its creaks and pops joining an already impressive visual display. Tiny flickers of lightning added to the circling mass and made it harder to see Hitsugaya at its center.

To distract himself, Ichigo turned to Gilbreathe and asked, "Why are you up at this hour? And how did you end up here?"

"I worked very late on a computation for a prototype surveillance system. If it works as we hope, we'll be able to pinpoint a plus spirit while it's in a pre-hollow state. This way, we can provide holy judgment before it completely transforms into a hollow. Pinpointing a frequency range common to every plus spirit is proving quite elusive, I must admit. But to answer your question. My lab is across the way there." He pointed to the windows along the far wall. "I saw the training room lights and, to be perfectly honest, I was curious to see who would be training so late. I've been here approximately 15 minutes."

"Was he like this," Ichigo pointed to the arctic disturbance, "when you found him?"

Daniel sighed and shook his head. "A mild fog, a cool wind, and a slight dusting of snow, that was all."

Rangiku gasped, "He's reached this stage in less than twenty minutes?"

Ichigo studied the effect and said, "It's getting worse even as we watch. It's too risky to wait for him to come to on his own."

"Ichigo, are you sure - "

"I'm gonna wake him up," Ichigo said with determination.

"That isn't a good idea," Daniel cautioned, though he did not move to stop the younger reaper. "Better to let him work through it on his own for now."

"I can't do that," Kurosaki said. "He can't keep bottling it all up inside. It'll destroy him. I've seen it in my dad's clinic a hundred times. Some people, especially those with unyielding pride like Toshiro's, can't accept help until it's too late to do them any good. People like that can't admit any kind of weakness. This is especially true for Toshiro, what with all the pressures and spiritual powers of being the youngest shinigami captain."

"You're making a mistake," Daniel warned one last time.

"Maybe. But we've got to do something! I can't sit back and watch a friend tear himself up like he's doing right now!" Ichigo shouted.

Daniel shook his head and sighed once more. "He won't thank you for it."

"If he won't accept a helping hand, tough," Kurosaki said. "It's a friend's job to step up in spite of rejection. He'd do the same for me."

His doubts forgotten, and in willful contradiction to his earlier conversation with Matsumoto, Ichigo Kurosaki climbed onto the ice sheet, braving the micro-gale. He grabbed Toshiro Hitsugaya's shoulder and jostled the frost-covered body.

"Toshiro. Oi, Toshiro. Time to wake up and talk to me."

He shook Toshiro again, harder. Ichigo shivered and turned as much as he could to avoid being hit directly in the face by the artificial precipitation. He'd been around the young captain during battle a few times, so the sub-freezing temperature was familiar. Not pleasant but recognizable and expected. Standing on the slippery ice, however, proved a bit of a challenge.

"Toshiro, come on. We're worried here. Talk to us!"

For one breath Ichigo leaned over the shinigami captain. In the next, a blast of spirit energy exploded from the center of the storm. The force threw Kurosaki up and out. He slammed into the wall, hard. Despite the padding and kido shielding, Ichigo punched completely through and into the next room, taking the majority of the wall with him. He laid on top of a pile of rubble in a half-conscious daze, only missing the circle of twittering birds around his head to make the scene complete. Blood flowed from a thousand tiny cuts caused by needle-sharp ice shards slamming into him like senbon needles. A ragged tear along his hairline bled particularly heavy, as head wounds tended to do. The parts of his shihakusho that weren't torn were hidden under a sheet of steel-hard ice.

He heard Rangiku shout "Ichigo!" then nothing.

()()()()

Gilbreathe said, "They're gone."

"Thank you for telling me," Toshiro, eyes closed and covered by an arm thrown over his face, replied out of courtesy.

Gilbreathe's statement was unnecessary, and they both knew it. The two captains literally _felt_ Kurosaki and Matsumoto moving away from the infirmary. At this range, Ichigo's high level of spirit energy was impossible to ignore, especially when the substitute soul reaper was emotionally agitated. Ichigo and Rangiku had followed him to the medical wing and hovered in a most annoying fashion until Captain DuLay ordered them away so that her patient could get some supervised rest.

When the Avalonian officer's presence did not likewise fade into the distance, Hitsugaya exhaled a ragged breath and said, "Are you here to make me 'share my feelings,' too?"

"Hell, no."

Caught off-guard by the unexpected vehemence, Toshiro opened his eyes and looked at Daniel Gilbreathe. The Avalonian captain leaned against the wall to one side of the door, ankles overlapped and arms crossed. The slouching posture screamed supreme relaxation bordering on indolence. Even so, Toshiro had the oddest feeling that the Avalonian would counter any threat Hitsugaya might present. Though they'd known one another a very short time, Toshiro had judged the bespectacled officer to be even more laid-back and gentle than Jushiro Ukitake. For him to swear seemed far out of character.

"You're not?" he asked before he could censor himself.

"No. I am not."

Perhaps the medication had muddled his brain. Whatever the cause, it took Toshiro a few moments to ask, "...Why?"

"They want you to pour out your emotions," Daniel answered. "While I agree that you can't keep everything bottled up, they went about it all wrong. Using emotion to prod more emotion only causes defensive walls to form. Passion isn't the way to approach this situation."

Toshiro scowled. "And the right way would be...?"

"The opposite of emotion," Daniel said matter-of-factly. "To wit: logic."

"Logic." Toshiro couldn't hide the skepticism in his voice. "You want to use logic to fix me?"

Daniel made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "You don't need to be 'fixed.' That sounds like something you would do to limit an animal's ability to breed. It doesn't apply to a person's spirit. I think the word 'adapt' is a better fit here."

_'Adapt,'_ Toshiro thought._ Yes, much better than 'fix.'_

Curious in spite of himself, Toshiro had to ask, "So. How do you propose I 'adapt' to my recent experience?"

"By logic, of course."

Blame it on the medication. Yes. Definitely the drugs. Normally he would've just gotten up and left someone this annoying. Too bad he didn't have that option here.

"Of course. Again I ask, how will logic help?"

"Present yourself with one problem and answer it honestly, even if to no one but yourself. Here is the situation: the traitor Sosuke Aizen captures a reaper under your command and tortures him for information. A rescue party arrives in time and returns him to the Soul Society. This reaper possesses great spiritual pressure and a very powerful spirit sword, both of which can affect his vicinity in a wide radius. In the aftermath of his liberation, he has debilitating nightmares that generate chaotic reactions in the environment around him. These reactions are potentially dangerous to others. He refuses to seek counseling or to even admit there is a problem. When startled by an unexpected touch, he reacts with ferocity. When his friends approach him, he rebuffs their offers of help, again to the point of violence. Here is the question: as his captain, what do you do?"

Toshiro bristled. "I would never - "

"This is not about you." Daniel raised a finger to stop him. "This is about the reaper in your division. How do you, _as his captain_, deal with his situation? Do you ignore him? Leave him to work his own way through? Do you instruct someone else to deal with him, your lieutenant perhaps? Do you counsel him yourself? Do you order him to meet with a mind healer? Do you throw him back to work in the hope that exertion will solve everything, or do you remove him from the active roster until you're certain he's recovered enough for field duty? How does Captain Hitsugaya treat his traumatized subordinate?"

_How_ would_ I deal with something like that?_ Toshiro asked himself._ It's never happened before, at least to me, so I don't know. With Aizen's plots and attacks, it could happen sooner or later. Shouldn't I work the scenario through my head, just in case?_

The English reaper moved away. Toshiro couldn't stop himself from asking, "Aren't you going to wait for my answer?"

Daniel Gilbreathe turned a quarter-way back around but did not look at the smaller reaper captain. "I'm not the one who must ask the question, solve the riddle, or accept the answer. Only you can do that."

Without another word, he vanished through the door. The latch closed with a muted snick.

_He asks a good question,_ Hyorinmaru said. _The answer is worth seeking._

Loathe as he was to admit it, Toshiro Hitsugaya agreed. He had not found peace in either exertion or sleep. The physical wounds were healed but his tattered psyche hung by a thin thread. If he did nothing, he would eventually unravel. His time in the mindscape with Hyorinmaru had helped tremendously, but it was not enough to cure his overall condition. For someone with his level of power, a loss of control could cause unfathomable damage and, worst case, result in innocent deaths. What happened to Kurosaki in the training room was proof of that.

The solution would not be found quickly or easily, but he had to start somewhere. If he could not find the answer by outside means, he'd follow an inner path instead.

Even as the first rays of sunlight flowed through the window to touch the ceiling, Toshiro Hitsugaya relaxed onto his infirmary bed, closed his eyes, and asked the question.

As anticipated, the process was slow and painful. His thoughts either spun in interlocking circles or bogged down like heavy beasts in a soggy marsh. He pushed through each obstruction with dogged tenacity, asking the question time and again. Hyorinmaru helped where and when he could. The ice dragon often acted as a devil's advocate to clarify some chain of reasoning. Most of the time, however, the zanpakuto spirit remained silent and let Toshiro work through various concepts at his own pace.

Long hours passed, and he was no closer to the answer than when he started. Sunlight poured through the window to warm his face. The sun moved higher, until the light no longer came directly into the room. A vague part of his subconscious noted each time Captain DuLay or one of her medics came to check on his condition before they quietly retreated, thinking he was only asleep.

At last, Toshiro opened his eyes and looked through the windows. Judging by the color of the sky and angle of the light, he estimated the time to be around 11:00 in the morning - he'd thought away a full four hours.

The solution came almost as an afterthought, so subtle that he almost didn't recognize it. For some reason, when Toshiro envisioned the phantom subordinate, his mind created the image of a slender teenage boy with messy black hair and despairing green eyes.

_What does a mortal teenage wizard have to do with my post-traumatic problems?_ he wondered.

Moving the thought forward, Toshiro spoke aloud to himself and to his internal companion, saying, "What Gilbreathe said...about ignoring him, leaving him to work his own way through. Isn't that what we've done?"

Hyorinmaru hummed in understanding. _The boy. Harry Potter._

A recollection surfaced of Harry in the Hogwarts hospital wing, pleading over and over for an escape from his personal hell. Both before and after the memory alteration, the boy made the same wretched appeal and experienced the same crushed spirit upon denial.

"He wasn't...they didn't do to him what they did to me but...his situation isn't _that_ much different from mine while I was trapped in that dungeon. Powerless. Helpless. Without options or hope. His every thought and action carefully planned out for him with neither consent nor concern for his wellbeing. With no one to turn to."

_As the captain of this hypothetical subordinate,_ Hyorinmaru asked,_ what will you do?_

"I think...I think that by helping someone else who feels much the same weight of despair, maybe...just maybe...my sub-...that _I_ can find some small measure of peace."

Somewhere deep inside him, a glimmer of hope sparked within the exhausted young captain.

()()()()

Toshiro Hitsugaya stood alone in the central courtyard at the base of the flagstone platform, waiting for Daniel Gilbreathe. The young captain once more wore a gigai clad in civilian clothing - his usual black golf shirt, white jeans, and brown leather loafers. A light green scarf filled the open space of his open, turned-up collar.

_Black and white with a touch of green. Interesting how my civilian clothes mimic the coloring of my sash, shihakusho, and haori. I wonder what that says about my psyche. If I dared mention the topic out loud, Matsumoto would fall on the floor laughing hysterically. She would then take me shopping..._

An image of himself clad in a rainbow of pastel colors, heavy on bubblegum pink and mint green, complete with a gossamer scarf billowing around his neck, flooded the forefront of his mind. A sequence of shudders shot from his toes to the topmost point of his frost-white hair, accented by a giant sweat drop.

_Ack! No._

Toshiro looked up, replacing the horrible imagery in his mind's eye with the tranquil contrast between suntanned clouds and unblemished blue sky. He breathed deep and threw his head back so that the light breeze could catch maximum skin. After so long trapped in a dungeon, the freedom of open air was extra-sweet.

The time differential between Soul Society (or in his current case, Avalon) and the World of the Living was sometimes hard to calculate, but he reckoned slightly more than a week had passed in the outside world. The first days of his return to Avalon were spent resting and healing. Training and reconditioning soon followed.

Hardest of all was his need to escape the increasingly pointed questions of his peers. Before his departure, Ukitake had become nearly impossible to avoid. Matsumoto had taken his place, becoming something like a mother hen, though the Captain-Lieutenant dynamic offered Hitsugaya some protection, however slight, from her badgering.

Ichigo Kurosaki had accepted his sincere apology for the previous morning's accident without hesitation and no longer pestered him to share his feelings. Even so, the substitute soul reaper's concerns had not been laid to rest. Hitsugaya could see it in the way that Kurosaki constantly looked at him, even when he thought Toshiro had not noticed. It remained an open question whether Ichigo was more worried _for_ Toshiro or _about_ him.

This trip into the mortal world was welcome on several fronts, not the least of which was an escape from his well-meaning but suffocating friends. His day in the infirmary had been the first time since his rescue that he hadn't been pestered with questions about his memories or feelings, and that only because Captain DuLay forbade any visitors other than herself and the other captains.

"Ahh, yes. Well. I see you're ready to go."

Daniel Gilbreathe, accompanied by a tall, slender young man clad in a traditional Avalonian grim reaper uniform, crossed the open span until he stood beside Toshiro. The older captain also occupied a gigai clad in unremarkable civilian clothing - a tan, short-sleeve button-down shirt tucked into chocolate brown dress slacks. He smiled a greeting to his smaller companion and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"So how are we going to find the boy?" Toshiro asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

"Oh, that will be easy." Daniel grinned and twitched like a child with a special secret. "I bugged him."

Toshiro blinked. "Excuse me?"

The captain of Avalon's Division 8, Research and Development, offered a mixed expression of chagrin, smirk, deceit, and deviltry. On anyone else, such a mix would have been creepy at best, terrifying at worst. On Mayuri Kurotsuchi, for example (minus the boyish chagrin), everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads of Soul Society knew to scream, run as fast as they could, and pray their flesh didn't melt from their bones before they could escape the blast radius. On Daniel, it was less demonic-scientist-gone-wild and more mischief-maker-planning-a-master-prank.

In answer to Hitsugaya's question, he clarified, "I attached a microscopic tracking device to Harry's wand."

"And you did this...why?" Toshiro asked with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Gilbreathe shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea?"

"Are you making a statement or asking a return question?"

"Yes."

The smaller captain glared and huffed. He wanted very badly to power-drive the other man into the ground. "You are infuriating, you know that."

"I do try, rather." He turned to the young man at his side. "Oh, this is David MacRae, my aide and the most promising young knight in all of Avalon." To the brown-haired, blushing teen, he said, "David, if you would, please?"

Toshiro's attention caught on the weapon David cross-drew from a long holster on his left hip. What appeared at first glance to be a pistol was, in fact, a gun-sword - a flintlock shape mounted onto a long dagger blade. The young reaper stepped onto the platform, thrust the blade forward, called, "Open!" and gave the gun-sword a sharp 90-degree twist to the right, summoning the Avalonian gate. Ponderous oak doors decorated with copper and iron opened wide.

His task complete, the young reaper smiled, bowed to the two captains, and retreated from the platform.

Toshiro stared through the large gates to the Precipice World beyond. _I've traveled between Soul Society and the World of the Living a million times. Why am I shaking, and why is it so hard to step through? Am I that great a coward?_

He was never more grateful to his companion than when Captain Gilbreathe knelt down to tighten a shoe lace that did not need to be tightened, for no other reason than to give Toshiro time to prepare.

Still focused on his footwear, Daniel said so softly that David could not possibly hear, "A reaper from the Americas once gave me a sage piece of advice. 'When you fall off the horse, you have to get right back on.' Seeing as there aren't many horses in Avalon, it took me awhile to understand what that meant, but once I did, I've found it to be most helpful. It means, the longer you take to face something unpleasant, the more unpleasant it becomes."

"_Wakari mashita_," Toshiro murmured quietly.(3)

Daniel stood up, knocked non-existent dirt from the knees of his trousers, and faced the gates, never once looking towards Toshiro. "Understanding it and applying it are two different things."

"Hnn."

"Ready?"

Toshiro hid his twitching fists in the pockets of his trousers. He tried to answer out loud but finally had to settle for a sharp jerk of his head.

The trip through the Precipice World took very little time. Long before Toshiro was ready, they exited the Senkaimon. The pair stood on a small triangle of moss and stone beneath the thick canopy of a willow tree. Irregular bars of sunlight slipped through the dangling greenery to glisten off the rippling surface of an oval pond. Beyond the green curtain, a family of ducks paddled along with an occasional quack or peep. On the far shore, human families gathered around picnic tables and an outdoor grill. Children chased one another around the area, their fluting laughter carried on a trickster breeze.

For one tiny moment, the reapers stood shielded and sheltered, comfortable in their isolation.

A palm-wide device in Daniel's left hand beeped. The Avalonian captain studied the tiny screen and said, "Well, we do seem to be in luck. Harry - or his wand, at least - is not far a'tall. Ninety-seven meters northwest." He pointed in the proper direction. "Beyond that stand of oaks."

The two walked silently, deciding without discussion to go around rather than through the grove. Their common reasoning was two-fold. First, by approaching Harry Potter from a public thoroughfare, they hoped to avoid startling the young wizard. Second, they would draw less attention from anyone who happened to see them, whether it be regular or magical mortal.

"There he is," Daniel saw the boy first, "on the bench."

A muscle along Toshiro's jawline ticked; turquoise eyes narrowed to angry slits. "Is that a fresh bruise on his face?"

"Damn it," Daniel swore quietly beside him. "Yes, it is."

Hitsugaya gave the area a very careful study. "I don't see or feel anyone who might be a guard. If Harry Potter is as valuable to their war efforts as McGonagall-_san_ claims, Dumbledore should provide at least minimal protection for his 'weapon,' don't you agree?"

"It may sound strange coming from someone who commands an entire division devoted to solving mysteries, but...I hate mysteries. Particularly ones like this." Daniel was unable to keep the disgust from his voice. "The more I see, the more certain I am that something malicious is afoot. Worst of all, this child is ruddy well dead center of it all, and without one iota of say in the matter."

"That's wrong," Toshiro growled under his breath.

"_Very_ wrong." Daniel gave the area one final, intense scan then said, "Wait here. I'll approach him first. Keep a watch on my back?"

Toshiro nodded, fist clenched around the mod soul dispenser in his right hip pocket. Daniel Gilbreathe left him standing in the dappled shade and approached the bench alone.

As his shadow fell on the resting teen, Harry let out a heavy sigh.

Deliberately keeping his voice low and calm, Daniel Gilbreathe smiled down on the Potter boy and said, "Hello, Harry."

()()()()

()()()()

(1) The weights of the zanpakutos were based on research done on the weights of normal forged katana, etc. I could not find anything in canon literature that documented the spirit swords' weights.

(2) Toshiro is eating bangers 'n mash, a traditional British dish made of mashed potatoes and sausages in a variety of flavors, principally pork or beef. The dish is sometimes served with onion gravy, fried onions, baked beans and peas.

(3) _Wakashi mashita_ can be interpreted as "I got it" or "I understand."


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

_**A/N:**__ My HP/Naruto Shippuden xover is gathering an impressive number of likes and follows, many more than I expected. That's rather addictive for a writer. Despite that, RotFH will continue to its conclusion. I've already invested 2.5 years in it – It's my child! I'm not going to abandon my BABY!_

_My rule is this: Whenever I post a chapter in RotFH, I will not post another until 'Sabaku no Harry' is updated. And vice versa. This way, neither story will die._

_A brief warning for language in this chapter. Harry and Vernon get a little potty-mouthed. I think you'll agree that Harry, at least, has good reason._

_EDIT: 8/26/13. Oops. A few post-beta revision errors slipped through. They are now corrected. (Thanks, Cressie!)_

.

"I'm a wimp. An O-grade, number one numbnut! Muppet. Moron. Arse-hat. Why can't I decide what to do?"

Harry Potter stared at the cutting board covered in potatoes and onions as though the chopped vegetables might spell out the answer. The vegetables, being vegetables, spelled nothing, though the sting in his eyes was a form of message: next time chop the onions under running water. Doing so will cut down on eye irritation, _particularly_ on days when said eyes have more important things to worry about.

The young wizard looked around the Dursley's kitchen as best he could with his left eye half-closed. After returning from his afternoon errand, he'd done a quick wash-up and changed clothes before starting the meal, but nothing could erase the evidence of Vernon's hard fist. Inflammation and bone-deep bruises the color of an overripe plum distorted the left side of his face from forehead to jawline. The cut on his lip split every time he moved his mouth, causing a thin trickle of blood to leak down his chin. The frames of his glasses were as straight as he could make them without casting a _reparo_, but the left earpiece still sported an odd wave, while a plaster covered the cut on his temple where the earpiece had dug into his skin. Gravel-burned elbows and hands, as well as other unseen aches where he'd hit his head, back and hip on the ground, added to his unpleasant situation.

Hoping to distract himself from his discomfort, Harry turned to the stove. A stainless steel dutch oven covered the back left burner. Inside, a large roast sat on a bubbling bed of melted butter. A final rotation showed that the meat had acquired a nice caramel-brown color, seared just right to hold in the juices. Taking a quick look at Aunt Petunia's recipe book, Harry added water, salt, red pepper, sage and mint. A swipe of his cutting knife slid the potatoes and onions off the cutting board and into the liquid around the roast. Regarding the recipe one last time to make sure he hadn't missed anything, he quartered two cloves of garlic and threw them in for good measure then covered the pot, opened the oven door, and placed the roast on the wire rack.

_Turn off the top burner – done. Oven heated to 175 C – yes. The Dursleys like their beef medium-rare, so it needs to cook at least two, maybe two and a half hours._ Harry looked at the clock on the wall._ It's 4:00. Uncle Vernon normally gets home around 6:30, so that's just right!_

Aunt Petunia had been using Harry to help her with the cooking for years, putting him in charge of stirring a sauce, preparing breads and desserts, or setting the table. Both his aunt and uncle often told him it was the least he could do to earn his keep. This summer, however, was the first where Aunt Petunia left Harry charged with preparing the entire meal. His aunt seemed to be coming up with more and more excuses to be out of the house "on community business" during what normally was her time to cook. She would instead leave Harry with one of her recipes, with strict warnings that everything had better be prepared to her high standards, or else.

Harry had the added anxiety of knowing that if any part of the meal didn't satisfy his Uncle Vernon, he was the one to take the blame for it, and all that that entailed.

_I have time to take a quick shower and finish a few more chores before I make the gravy or ready the bread. Aunt Petunia already bought Dudley's favorite dessert – vanilla cake and raspberry ripple ice cream – so I don't have to worry about the afters._

Having given the kitchen a final wipe down, Harry went upstairs for a quick shower to wash away the day's blood and grime. He made sure to straighten up after himself. It would never do to have anyone complain that he left a ring of dirt around the tub or hung the towel crooked on the rack. He was held to a far higher standard than someone like, say, his cousin Dudley. To be on the safe side, he took his wash rag and towel with him to his bedroom. The less evidence he left of his presence, the less likely he was to catch any grief, either verbal or physical.

As he zipped his trousers and tightened his belt to keep everything from falling around his ankles, Harry's eyes moved to the desk in front of the window. Shirt in hand, he opened the right-side drawer and brought out the letter-poster. In that instant, Harry though of Luna and decided to write to her for advice.

He laid the shirt across the foot of his bed, pulled out a short stack of parchment and a fountain pen (swiped from the bin after his Aunt's most recent failure at calligraphy), and sat down.

_Hello, Luna,_

_Thank you very much for the letter-poster. It will be a god-send this summer. I think I'd go spare without a way to communicate with someone. Also, thanks for the food. I really enjoy Mrs. Weasley's cooking. You were right. The Dursleys aren't exactly keen on fattening me up._

_I agree, Dumbledore isn't the least bit subtle, not anymore. After he'd riffled through my head, I felt like I'd been bludgeoned by a trunk full of bludgers. In the past, he at least TRIED to hide his manipulations. After everything that went on last year, how he didn't explain anything to me, left me at Umbridge's mercy, and all the stuff that happened at the Ministry, with the strangers, Fawkes and such, I'd be surprised if the old acorn hasn't fallen totally out of his tree!_

_I don't suppose you could teach me how to keep nargles out of my mind? It sounds like a great skill to have._

_Oh, and your idea for a children's book? I like it. I want to be the first to read it. Just don't put me in it in any way, even vaguely. Alright? Promise? I get enough press on my own. Truth or fiction doesn't matter, it's always more than I want._

_Dobby's timing with me was a little better than it was for you. At least I was already in bed when he popped in, and he was quiet enough not to alert the Dursleys. I hope you took the news better than I did. It was a good thing I wrote myself a letter, otherwise I'd have done something really stupid, like take the Knight Bus to Hogwarts so I could punch the whiskered old bastard square in the face! I can't believe he cast an obliviate on me for no reason at all except to cover his own hairy arse! I trusted Dumbledore. He was the first guardian I had who cared about me. He made me feel safe since my first day at Hogwarts, and he betrayed me, you, everyone! _

_Sorry, had to rant a bit. In case you can't tell, I'm still steamed about that and will be for a long time. I feel even worse that I'm focused on what he did to me and not on the people he hurt worse. Even though I saw my own memories, it's still hard to believe it actually happened. There's no two ways to describe it – Hogwarts was a war zone, and the wizards lost. I shudder to think how badly things could have gone if the attackers had been Death Eaters instead of ... whoever or whatever they really are._

_I would have written you sooner except we had a really bad storm last night. The entire neighborhood's torn up. Debris everywhere, tree limbs and fences down, and roofs damaged. The Dursleys had me in the yard first thing this morning, working on the clean-up. After that, I had to run an errand related to supper. There hasn't been time to hiccup, let alone write a letter._

_Speaking of my errand. Dudley wanted roast for supper. We didn't have one thawed, so I took the city bus to Grunnings to get grocery money from Uncle Vernon. You won't believe what happened. Our former potions professor – greasy-haired, snarky, two-faced SEVERUS SNAPE – apparated into the alley next to my uncle's building and went inside! When Uncle Vernon came out a few minutes later to give me the money, he hit me! He's cuffed me before, used his belt and such a few times, especially when he's sloshed, but he has NEVER done anything where someone might witness it and talk, either around the neighborhood or to the police, or hit me where it would show. Having this happen right after Snape's visit can't possibly be a coincidence._

_Was Snape there for his own reasons, or because Dumbledore (or Voldemort) sent him? Was this his first visit or had he come before? Magical compulsions would certainly explain my uncle's increased drinking and abusive temper. What result is Snape after? There can't be any good reason for 'the light side' to beat its 'savior' into the ground, but considering the probable state of Dumbledore's mind, who knows? 'The dark side' would kill me and be done with it, so he most likely is not acting on orders from Voldemort. Keeping me face-down in the dirt, my so-called 'arrogance' beaten out of me, sounds like something Snape would do on his own._

_Whatever the answer, I agree with you and Prof. McGonagall. We need to be very careful whenever we're anywhere around Dumbledore, especially since we don't know what he's planning. Not to mention how he'll be in a rancid mood due to the attention he's getting from all quarters. Despite the risk of his foul temper, reading about his troubles gave me the first real belly laugh I've had in ages. I can't say whether the outside scrutiny will help or hurt his chances of finding someone competent to teach DADA and Potions. Given his hiring history, I don't hold out much hope for either position. I fully expect to return to school one year and find a trained ape teaching Defense!_

_I'm trying to be funny and upbeat, but it's not working, is it? This whole thing really has me on edge. Whether Snape is working for himself, Dumbledore or Voldemort, there's no denying the danger. Not just to me, but to anyone who gets in their way._

_After rambling on for two pages, I finally get to the point of my letter. As I was coming home from the grocers, I stopped in the park. While I rested on a shaded bench, two people came up to me. The older man was one of the strangers from the attack on Hogwarts. Daniel, the brown-haired guy with the glasses. The other was Toshiro._

_We talked for a while. I asked Toshiro how he was doing. He looked good and said he was fine, but I could tell by his eyes that he hasn't dealt with everything. Not surprising, considering what all he went through. They asked how I'd been hurt and other things, mostly stuff to fill a few long silences. I was embarrassed and uncomfortable, and I could tell they were, too. Toshiro finally said, they're working hard on getting me to their world, where no wizard can reach me. It won't be long, two days, three at most. Daniel said that when I was ready or if anything happened, I should contact them through you since you have one of their 'soul phones.'_

_For a second, I was over the moon. It was like a ten-ton block had fallen off my shoulders. I could stand up straight and breathe again. Until I remembered. I rushed into the Ministry despite Hermione's warnings, and we both know how that ended. Jumping feet-first into an unknown world feels like another impulsive move, but could it be any worse than staying here? The devil I know versus the devil I don't._

_If I go with them, I might learn something that will help me defeat Voldemort. God knows I'm not learning anything from dear old Albus and his lot. It would also be safer for you, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Neville – for everyone. I won't lead you into danger again until I have the power to protect you. I thought to save Sirius but ended up causing his death, instead. You were all hurt in one way or another because I didn't take the time to think things through, to realize that I was being manipulated – again. I won't make another such ill-considered move._

_On the other hand, how much reflection is TOO much? Where do I draw the line between thought and action? How long do I have before I think everything away and have no more time to act? I'm at a crossroads that will determine the fate of hundreds, maybe thousands of people, but there are no signposts to point me in the right direction. I'm afraid to make the wrong decision. Toshiro offered me the one thing I begged for the day he left Hogwarts, but now that I have that chance, I'm frozen with indecision. I can't move forward, I can't turn back, but staying still would be suicide._

_I can't remember if I've told you, and I don't want to risk too much in a letter. There's a reason why Dumbledore thinks I'll be the one to kill Voldemort or be killed by him. Dumbledore told me why, but only after the Ministry, after he sent me back to Hogwarts – when it was too late to do any good. It comes down to a prophecy and some mysterious power, one I'll find that Voldemort doesn't know about or can't understand._

_Luna, what should I do?_

_I see a set of scales – wizards on the left, Toshiro's people on the right. There are good people in the wizarding world, but are there enough of them to justify staying under the Headmaster's control? I can't grow or help anyone while Dumbledore hides the truth and guides everything from the shadows. I've said it myself and have heard others say: the average witch or wizard is little more than a brainless sheep, herded left or right by the loudest voice._

_I was raised in the Muggle world, but that doesn't change my heritage. My Mum and Dad were magicfolk. I am magicfolk. Whether I like it or not, fate has named me "The Chosen One." I have to decide: where can I gain the skills and experience to protect everyone? How do I find 'the power he knows not'? How do I awaken that power? How am I going to learn enough magic to defeat Voldemort when we've had DADA professors like Quirrell, Lockhart, and Umbridge, and Dumbledore wouldn't even give me a trainer who cared to teach me Occlumency properly? And the most important 'how' of all ... how long do I have to master it before Voldemort finds me?_

_My heart and gut both tell me the answers lie with the strangers. Every internal argument or debate ends with me joining Toshiro. Yet, just as I'm about to decide, I think: if I go with them, who will protect my friends? If I go away and return to find any of my friends hurt or killed, it will destroy me. Better to stay under Dumbledore's tyrannical thumbs in case I'm needed here._

_But if I stay, I might not get the training I need that will REALLY make the difference in this war. You should've seen the way Dumbledore fought Voldemort at the Ministry, Luna. I've never seen anything like it! And we've sure never been taught anything like that in Defense class. It's a vicious cycle, like a dog chasing its tail around and around. I can't go there because I might be needed here. I can't stay here because I need to go there to learn what's needed to win here. I can't fight if I don't learn, but I can't learn because I might be needed to fight. The whole forward-back-suicide argument again._

_Am I making any sense? I hope you can say yes, because to me, it doesn't make any sense at all! I keep going in circles!_

_I need to finish tonight's supper and do a few other things before Uncle Vernon gets home. I'll close here with an apology. I can't spell my letters the way your father can for you. You'll need to hide this message very well or destroy it. I dread to think what D or V would do if they got hold of it._

_Thank you, Luna, for being here for me. It means more than you can know._

_Your friend,_

_Harry_

Harry re-read the letter twice and bemoaned his shaky penmanship. Seeing his every doubt and concern spread across five sheets of parchment made it appear both inconsequential and overwhelming at the same time. Perhaps he was being an alarmist without good cause, but too many of the facts added up to something bad. He was too close to the situation – he needed a fresh eye to confirm his suspicions. Ron and Hermione might look like the first choices for an objective opinion, but far too often he'd look them in the eye and see "We told you so." Luna was different – she didn't judge him. Even more importantly, she knew the strangers' powers and motives better than anyone else in the magical world.

Before he could second-guess himself, Harry folded the correspondence and stuck it into the letter-poster.

_It's done, for good or ill. I'd better get back downstairs. I'll have just enough time to give the house a bit of dusting and a quick vacuum then set the table, ready the bread and make the gravy before Aunt Petunia comes home._

Harry pulled on an overly large T-shirt, once pale blue but now a nondescript grey, and slipped his feet into worn trainers. His hand reached for the door when movement caught the corner of his eye. Harry returned to his desk to look at the letter-poster.

The fairies danced.

_She can't have answered me that quickly,_ Harry thought even as he tapped the slot with his wand tip.

A single sheet of parchment appeared.

_Hello there, Harry,_

_I must say, you have given me a lot to read. And to think about. If there is time, I will write a more detailed response later, but for now, it all boils down to this: hope for the best but prepare for the worst. Be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Take the time to pack and plan rather than wait until the last minute only to race out with nothing but the clothes you're wearing. Better to have and not need than to need and not have. Always brush your teeth, clean behind your ears and wear clean underpants, because you never know when there will be a surprise inspection._

_Enough truisms. Let's get to work! _

_Pack a bag – the juvenile oophalemp has one. Look in his closet under the black duster. Don't bother with your trunk – it will be far too cumbersome without a featherlight charm. Carry only what you need. You may be running two steps ahead of a herd of wild hippogryphs, so keep weight in mind and be sure your shoes won't fly off. Include both summer- and winter-weight clothing, toiletries, and any personal items that you do not want to lose. A book or three wouldn't hurt (relaxing reading, not school texts, silly!), but don't sacrifice other items just to have them along. Oh, and remember your broom. Don't worry about food, there will be plenty of that where you're going._

_Speaking of food, your roast is coming on quite nicely, though it needs a touch more mint and garlic to balance out the onion and pepper. Make an extra basket of rolls._

_Take care of yourself, friend Harry. Everyone will be here when you get back._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

_P.S. Tell Hedwig I'll have her perch ready by the time she arrives at the Rookery._

"What the ruddy hell?" Harry blinked and read the message a second and third time. "Luna's always been an odd duck, but this is off the chart, even for her. She's talking like I've already decided to go!" He paused and stared out the window at the afternoon sky. "Have I? Have I decided to go but haven't admitted it, even to myself?"

However strange or irrelevant it might seem, Luna's advice was always worth attention. Harry hurried into Dudley's bedroom and opened the walk-in closet. Sure enough, amid a mountain of clutter was a large black duster jacket, purchased during Dudley's brief _Highlander_ obsession. Beneath that was a tri-colored sport carryall – forest green, chocolate brown, and black – the tags still on and the shape-stuffing still inside. Harry hurried back to his room and hid the bag under his bed, along with his broom.

As he studied the Firebolt, Harry couldn't resist a smile and a mental nod to his Head of House. _Thank you for returning it to me, Professor. I don't know if I'll need it before sixth year starts, but it feels good having it back. When Umbridge took it, I thought I'd never see it again. My Firebolt is a precious gift from Sirius. For that reason alone, I'll keep it forever._

He looked at the clock and grimaced. _Bugger. There's no time to sort anything. I'll have to pack tonight._

()()()()

The kitchen clock read 6:15. Harry had just swapped the dutch oven for three pans of butter-basted rolls when the front door opened ahead of his aunt. After slamming the portal closed, Petunia entered the kitchen with her usual pinch-lipped, I-smell-raw-sewage expression.

"When will dinner be – what happened to your face?"

Harry shrugged. "The usual."

Petunia snapped her jaw closed. She put away her handbag, hung the car key ring on its peg over the phone, and dropped the empty sandwich container in the sink for Harry to clean. After a quiet admonition to set the table before Vernon came home, she left the kitchen with a hurried clack of heels against tile and stair steps. Harry wasn't sure whether her silence was a good thing, or a bad. True, a quiet Aunt Petunia was an Aunt Petunia who wasn't screeching fit to break glass or demanding that he do ten impossible things at one time.

Still, the silence was quite unnatural, like the first sign of an approaching apocalypse.

As he laid down a setting for three, Harry pondered on the sideways glances she'd thrown his way. _If I didn't know better, I'd swear I saw an apology, guilt, maybe even shame in her eyes. That couldn't possibly be right. But one thing I see for certain. Aunt Petunia is afraid. She knows the truth, same as I do. If Uncle Vernon can do this without a thought for what anyone might say, he can't be too far from doing the same to her or Dudley._

Dudley arrived less than five minutes after Petunia disappeared upstairs. His reaction was a near-mirror of his mother's – a snarky greeting bitten off mid-sentence, dismay, comprehension, and dawning fear. Dudley tried to make a snide comment about the freak getting what he deserved, but the insult lacked any heat, overpowered as it was by cold fear.

A car door slammed. Dudley pelted up the stairs and closed his bedroom door one second before Vernon pushed through the front, already bellowing like a bull elephant.

"Where are you, boy? Get down here right now!"

Harry scuttled out of the kitchen, presenting a meek aspect in hopes that submissive behavior would satisfy his uncle. Judging by the ruddy color of the walrus man's face, it would not be enough.

"The yard is still a wreck. What have you been doing the entire day? Slacking off, hmmm? I won't have it, boy. The Dursleys are a pillar of this community. We set an example for everyone else. The yard's the first thing they see, so I'll be damned it I'll let you put me and mine in a bad light because you can't bother to do your job!"

Vernon thrust out his hand, palm upwards. "The money and receipts."

Having expected such a command, Harry had everything ready on the side table. He first laid the receipts across his uncle's palm then topped them with every last pound and pence. The receipts were exact – they included every purchase, as well as the total bus fare.

Vernon's mean little eyes bored into Harry as he growled, "Stand right there 'til I've finished the count. Move one step, and I'll give you the backside of my fist."

Vernon counted the coins and compared the result with the receipts. He scowled, counted again, and glowered. Harry didn't need occlumency to read his uncle's thoughts. Vernon expected to catch Harry out, to use short change or a missing receipt as reason to vent his frustrations. Then again, why would Vernon need a reason?

Harry anticipated the backhand swing aimed at his left ear. Avoiding it altogether would have earned him an even harsher punishment, but he was able to turn his head just enough to take a glancing blow rather than a direct hit. Despite that, Harry's hearing tolled and his eyes watered. His already abused face throbbed in time with his pulse.

"Where is my dinner? I warned you to have it ready when I got home, and it damn well better be worth what I paid for it." Vernon's face, purple with rage, radiated menace. Harry only hoped that dinner and a splash of whisky would calm him down.

"Everything's ready, Uncle Vernon. I just have to bring out the rolls and butter. Hot water for tea will be ready in a minute or two."

Harry hurried into the kitchen to take the rolls from the oven. He wasn't surprised that his uncle detoured to the liquor cabinet for three fingers of Glenfiddich Solera Reserve. In fact, he'd anticipated the action by placing a bucket of ice on the sideboard. The big man turned to the living room and fell into his chair with an ominous creak of overtaxed wood and worn springs. A hammy fist fumbled around the side table until it found the telly remote. Soon, the strains of an evening comedy drowned out the chink of ice against glass.

Shaking from head to foot, a hand over his aching ear, Harry slumped against the door to the cupboard and closed his eyes. It didn't matter one jot whether Vernon's temper came naturally or was spurred on by magical means. Harry was never more certain of anything in his life – given even the slightest provocation, Vernon Dursley would beat him into the ground.

Petunia and Dudley remained upstairs until Vernon bellowed for them to come down so he could eat. Mealtime itself was better for Harry than for his aunt and cousin. He, at least, could escape upstairs with two thin slices of beef (pilfered, of course) between a single bread roll. This, added to the leftovers from Luna's letter-poster delivery from the night before, satisfied his hunger.

From long experience, Harry knew about how long the family would remain at the table. He used the time to sort through his school trunk for the clothing he'd purchased to wear only at school. If the Dursleys ever saw him in anything other than Dudley's cast-offs, a beating would be the least of his worries. Without a doubt, Harry knew the Dursleys' abhorrence of all things magical would not extend to the vault full of wizard gold he had inherited. They would profit from it, any way they could. Best case scenario, his guardians would steal every galleon, sickle, and knut from his vault. Worst (and most likely) case, they'd steal it all and want more.

First into the carryall went his photo album and the two care kits (wand and broom). He added khaki and two woolen trousers. On top of them came short-sleeve polos, T-shirts, long-sleeve button-downs, thermal long johns, and the latest Weasley-knitted jumper, followed by cotton and wool socks, undergarments, swim trunks, and sleepwear. His toiletry kit, the letter-poster, and his invisibility cloak went in last – he might need them before it came time to leave.

_Good thing this bag's as big as it is. There's no getting a book in, relaxing reading OR school text._

Remembering Luna's cautions about weight, Harry lifted the pack by one strap. _Whoa, too heavy._

Harry resorted, leaving out one pair of woolen trousers, two polos, one of the button-downs, two T-shirts, the swim trunks and pajamas. He could sleep in pants and tees. He tested the weight again – better, enough that he could run if he had to.

The carryall and his broom went into the corner behind his bed. He returned the rejected garments to his school trunk, buried once more beneath black robes, pointy wizard hats, Gryffindor scarves, magical books, sneakascopes, astronomy models, pewter cauldrons, potions ingredients, and other fantastical things. No matter how suspicious or nosey his family might be, no Dursley was brave enough to touch anything related to the "M" word just to see what might be stored beneath.

()()()()

Dawn found Harry back in the kitchen, preparing a full breakfast for his relatives – his way of thanking his aunt for deflecting Vernon's temper long enough for Harry to clean up after supper and return to the dubious safety of his bedroom. Protecting Harry hadn't been her primary concern, or any concern to her at all, really. Rather, she'd wanted to deflect any violence that might draw outside attention, whether it be gossip or constabulary. To accomplish this, she kept Vernon's whisky glass topped until alcohol and the late hour had him banging his way up the stairs to their bedroom.

Harry put extra effort into the morning's fry-up – a full English breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, black pudding, mushrooms, potato cakes, and baked beans. Fried tomatoes and fried bread filled two side platters. He topped it all with a pitcher of chilled orange juice and a pot of black coffee guaranteed to cut through the harshest hangover.

As soon as he heard Aunt Petunia moving about upstairs, Harry stuffed a bread-wrapped sausage into his mouth, put the last of the food on the table and ran into the front yard. By the time the Dursleys finished breakfast, Harry was hard at work cleaning up more storm damage. When the front door opened ahead of his uncle, Harry was on his knees in the mud, pulling trash and debris out of the flower bed closest to the living room window.

The walrus man blinked against the offending sun and shaded his eyes with his briefcase. He glared down at Harry, sneered, and moved to his car. Before he drove away, Vernon couldn't resist a final shot through the open passenger window.

"I told Petunia to keep you in the yard for however long it takes to get this mess cleaned up. If everything's not spiffed and shiny when I get home, there'll be hell to pay, and the coin will come from your pocket."

Harry's automatic, "Yes, Uncle Vernon," went unheard over the roar of a car engine and the stuttered squeal of tires on pavement.

The work taxed Harry's body, giving his hands plenty to do while abandoning his mind to more weighty matters. As he gathered debris into garbage bags and pulled them to the curb, Harry's thoughts turned this way and that, first towards escape into Toshiro's world then just as strongly towards remaining in familiar territory. Both paths felt rash and dangerous. Both felt right. Both felt wrong. Harry prayed that Luna would answer soon with advice he could actually use. As funny as they were, platitudes and make-believe creatures wouldn't help him decide how to deal with his situation.

_She does have one truism right, though,_ Harry reckoned. _Hope for the best but prepare for the worst.__ The carryall is ready. All I have to do is decide when ... or if ... I should go. I can't wait forever. Delaying too long could be just as dangerous as jumping too early. Add to that, a time will come when there won't be any turning back, no matter what has or hasn't happened._

As Harry struggled to pull a heavy tree limb to the curb, a cool breeze swirled around him like a playful sprite. Such winds were rare during Surrey high summers, so he welcomed any that came his way. A tiny segment of Harry's mind noted that the comfortable, spirited wind followed him around. It couldn't entirely negate the heat but it kept him cool enough to avoid passing out as he weeded and raked.

By lunchtime, Harry was the only soul still braving the heat. All other residents of Privet Drive had long since retreated to the cool interiors of their homes. Aunt Petunia allowed Harry to use the loo, refill his water bottle, and make a quick sandwich before he returned to the yard, this time in the back, still working but no closer to making up his mind than when he woke that morning. At least he could be grateful for the little things. Between larger patches of shade and the still-trailing breeze, the afternoon passed in slightly better conditions than he'd expected.

()()()()

_Do they never let him rest?_

Toshiro Hitsugaya sat on a tree limb in the yard of #5 Privet Drive. From his elevated perch, the young captain had a clear view of the cul-de-sac, in particular the entire front and most of the back yard of #4. In shinigami form, the only mortals who might see him were magicals. He shielded his presence, both by blanketing his spiritual pressure and by hiding high in the boughs of a tall oak tree. Only dumb luck or a determined eye would betray his presence.

The white-haired captain arrived in the world of the living shortly after sunrise to find Harry already toiling away. The mortal boy was not alone in the sense that others in the neighborhood were also hard at work, taking advantage of the brief daylight hours before the summer furnace turned all outside activities into torture. The difference, however, was readily visible. They worked together, either with family members or their direct neighbors, to deal with the residual storm damage. Harry had no such assistance. No one from the Dursley household bothered to help, and the few neighbors who even looked his way did so with varying expressions, none of them positive.

Toshiro sharpened his hearing to catch their behind-the-hand whispers and glared even harder. They dared to blame the boy's injuries on his "gang activities" when the truth was before them in Vernon Dursley's every word and deed.

"I've seen those faces before," he whispered to the sheathed zanpakuto that rested diagonally across his chest. "In Junrinan, before I heard your name. The other children were afraid of me. The adults treated me like I was trash. It wasn't because I was an orphan. They treated Momo and the other kids well enough. It was me. Only me." 

_I remember,_ the zanpakuto's deep voice reverberated within Toshiro's mind. _Close-minded simpletons, they rejected you because you were different from them. Even more than that, they sensed your spiritual power and, through that, me. They did not know what we were, only that we were strange to them, powerful and dangerous. They feared what they could not understand._

One particular mortal, a pudgy woman in front of #8, gave Harry's ratty clothing a classic up-and-down only to sniff and turn away. "The people of Surrey do to Harry what those in Junrinan did to me. They scorn him for something over which he has no control, without proof or cause," Hitsugaya murmured, his anger underscored by an echo of remembered pain.

_He is strong,_ Hyorinmaru replied. _He will survive until the gate is ready._

"I'm being impatient, I know that." Hitsugaya sighed and relaxed against the rough tree trunk. "I hate watching him suffer like this."

_Perhaps you can help him,_ the zanpakuto spirit replied,_ in your own unique way._

A slow smile spread across the shinigami's face. A slender hand waved over Hyorinmaru's hilt. He murmured a short phrase under his breath and fluttered long, narrow fingers in a fly-away-butterfly wave. A current of chilled air curled around the yard and surrounded the teenage boy.

The smile on Harry's face, the way he moved to catch every bit of the breeze, was sufficient thanks. Keeping it going took no effort at all and offered no risk to the shinigami or his hiding place. It wasn't so much a kido ability as it was a byproduct of his ice-based nature, where he used but a tiny fraction of his _tenso jurin._

Had even one person in the area shown compassion towards Harry, Toshiro would have extended the relief to include them. Let them stew in the hot sun – he had no sympathy for those who shunned others without learning the full facts.

As the humid morning gave way to an increasingly steamy midday, Toshiro wanted very badly to step into a gigai and labor at Harry's side. Having spotted a wizard hidden in some bushes across the street, however, he dared not give in to the impulse.

Shortly after noon, Petunia called Harry into the house with curt instructions to do what needed doing then get back to work. Three minutes after the door closed, Toshiro's soul phone vibrated.

He flipped it open and quietly said, "Hitsugaya."

Daniel Gilbreathe's voice came through the speaker, tinny but clear. _"How is he?"_

"They're working him like a slave, but I don't see any sign of additional injuries," Hitsugaya reported. "So far, I've only seen one magical anywhere in the vicinity – an older man hiding in the bushes across the street. I recognize him – I froze his arm the day they ... the day they captured me. How soon?"

_"We're still working on a balanced override of the Precipice defenses,"_ Gilbreathe said, his voice heavy with apology._ The sweeper isn't responding to the stand-down command the way it should, so it's slowing us down. Tomorrow morning, most likely."_

Toshiro frowned. "That may not be soon enough. I don't like what I'm feeling."

_"Feeling? What do you mean?"_ Daniel asked.

The shinigami thought for a moment how best to explain what he'd sensed from the boy's cruel mortal guardian. "The fat man. When he left this morning, There was something, like an oily residue over his spirit."

_"Unless Harry's life is in immediate danger, there's not much you can do."_

_"I understand,"_ Toshiro grumbled back and snapped the phone closed.

()()()()

The evening started as had the one before. Harry cooked and set the table. Petunia and Dudley hid upstairs until the last possible moment. Vernon arrived home in a foul mood and headed straight for the liquor cabinet.

The first difference was a small one, easily overlooked but glaringly obvious when viewed with hindsight. Instead of a tumbler with ice, Vernon took the entire bottle of whisky to his chair. By the time he called everyone to supper, he was already potted.

The second difference was noticed as soon as everyone gathered in the kitchen. A man with Vernon Dursley's perpetually bad temper should not smile.

"Where's my coin, boy?" Vernon asked, his beady blue eyes locked onto the smallest member of the family.

Harry stared at his uncle as he set down the last of the food. "Coin, uncle?"

Vernon's voice was maliciously gleeful. "I told you this morning. If everything wasn't spiffed and shiny when I got home, there'd be hell to pay, and the coin would come from your pocket. The yard's not finished, so I'll be taking the devil's coin out of your hide."

"But I did clean it, Uncle Vernon. All of the trash, leaves, limbs, everything. I even trimmed the verge, mowed and edged."

"The flowers. The shrubs. The broken bit of fence. Fresh mulch. What about them, hmm?"

"Vernon, dear," Petunia interrupted in a timid, quivering voice, "I plan to take Harry to the gardening centre first thing tomorrow morning. I want to oversee what he'll be planting, you see. There wasn't time today – "

"I won't have you excusing the runt from his chores. I gave him orders this morning, and he didn't deliver. It's as simple as that. There's consequences for those who don't do as they're told." Vernon rose from his chair with a noticeable skew to his posture. His grin morphed into a nasty smirk as he unbuckled his belt. "Come here, boy."

Harry measured the distance between himself and the hall. It was too far. Even drunk off his gourd, Vernon would catch him before he reached the stairs. The French doors to the back yard were closer. Given just the slightest bit of luck, he would escape through the rear fence and hide in the park until the danger passed.

"Vernon, please," Petunia whispered. "The neighbors – "

Vernon slashed the folded belt across the dining table. Crockery and glassware shattered. Chicken stew, dumplings, and stuffed mushrooms exploded. Whisky, tea and cola splashed to the ceiling. A second swing sent the silver gravy boat into the wall, where it left a dent and a thick, pepper-tan stain on the lavender wall paper.

"To merry bloody _hell_ with the neighbors. I won't have anyone telling me what to say or do in my own bloody house. Not the freak, not you, and not the _fuckin' neighbors!_" The drunken man roared.

Petunia backed away with a terrified sob, doing what she could to shield her son who was frozen in panic. When Petunia whispered for him to get out, Dudley bolted for the front door. He never looked back to see if his mother followed.

Hoping to use Vernon's distraction, Harry edged towards the French doors leading from the dining room to the back yard. The moment he turned his back to his uncle, a direct, full-force fist struck Harry between the shoulder blades and propelled him into and through the doors. The aluminum frames bowed and twisted, their hinges ripped from metal to screw. Glass shattered into a million glistening shards.

With a pained grunt, Harry slammed into the flagstones of the patio. By a miracle, he escaped critical injury from either the clout or the fall, but enough cuts and punctures dotted his body to make cumulative blood loss a real concern. Blood dripped from cuts as small as a pinprick all the way to a finger-length gash in front of his right ear. The blood funneled down the mortared channels between the blocks and soaked into the soil of the yard.

"Look at what you made me do!" Vernon thundered as he lumbered through the devastation. "Do you see it, you freak? You worthless little shit? See what you did!"

A thousand tiny facets reflected the late afternoon sunbeams, like a heaven full of stars fallen to earth. Harry stared at the prisms, bemused, but ... did he, should he, waste time staring at the pretty stars?

The wizard's head swam. His vision flickered. He had to do something, but what? It hurt so much to think. Magic. His wand. That was it. His wand. He could save himself. With his wand. One crystal thought cut through the fog: underage restrictions or not, he either used magic or he died.

The decision was the right one but recognized too late. Vernon was on him before Harry could free the holly and phoenix feather rod from its hidden forearm holster.

The drunken berserker's fist slammed down, driving Harry once more onto the glass-covered flagstones. The agony in his shoulder, where the blow fell, made Harry scream. His entire right arm went instantly numb.

Harry cried out and covered his head with his left arm. He cringed, waiting for the next strike. And waited. Nothing happened. With shuddering breaths, he dared to peek between his arms. Straw sandals. White socks. A flutter of white cloth over black. A diamond pattern, black on white. Silver-white hair, thick and messy. Everything bathed gold by the westering sun.

A sword?

Someone stood between him and his rampaging uncle. Harry struggled to make sense of everything. Someone used a sheathed sword to block Vernon's arms and deflect his fists.

The drunk tripped over the outdoor grill, landing flat on his back. Vernon yelled, rolled onto his knees and scuttled away. He stared around, eyes wild and wide, surrounded by bloodshot whites, darting in every direction.

"What the sh-h-hell was that? How – what – you – that was m-m-m – you did that, din'nu!"

"Stupefy!"

By the time Harry recognized his own voice or felt the smooth holly handle in his hand, Vernon lay unconscious on the patio, snoring like a satisfied pig.

A fearful mantra drummed in Harry's head. _He'll kill me. He'll kill me. When he wakes up, he'll kill me!_

Harry struggled to his feet, limped a wide circle around his uncle, and staggered into the house. He climbed the stairs, at one point traveling on all fours due to the hard trembles that shook his body, before he reached his room and closed the door. Feeling had returned to his right arm, bringing with it firing nerve endings and a heat that promised a bone-deep bruise on his shoulder. Every glass cut and imbedded shard added to his misery.

The clearer his mind became, the stronger the shakes. He'd used magic on a Muggle, on his guardian. He couldn't begin to guess how the Ministry would react. If they raised a stink, would Dumbledore lift a finger to help him this time, or would the old man use this as a lesson, a warning of what happens when someone defies his version of "the greater good"?

"Harry?"

The holly wand snapped around, a stunning spell half-spoken before Harry recognized the figure kneeling on his window sill. He blinked but the white-haired boy in the black and white robes didn't disappear. With a final struggle, his panic-stricken mind connected the dots and put a name to the newcomer: Toshiro Hitsugaya.

"Your uncle is still unconscious, but he won't stay that way for long. You have to leave. Now."

"I used magic. It's against the law for an underage wizard to use magic outside of Hogwarts. The Ministry owl's already on its way. They'll bring me before the Wizengamot again. They could expel me, break my wand, even put me in prison." Harry was babbling, and knew it, but couldn't stop himself. "Not that it will matter. When Uncle Vernon wakes up, I'm dead."

"Come with me." Toshiro held out his hand. Harry half-reached then froze. Turquoise eyes met emerald green. "Harry, it's time to choose – stay or go. After tonight, there will be no turning back."

Harry's thoughts raced. _Forward-back-suicide. I tried to deny it, but ever since I learned about the prophecy, and what Dumbledore and Snape did to Toshiro, there has only ever been one choice. The devil I don't know can't possibly be worse than the one that intends to kill me._

Harry grabbed up the carryall, dropped it on the bed and opened the top zipper.

"What are you doing?" Toshiro jumped into the room and grabbed the back of Harry's shirt. "We don't have time!"

"We'll _make_ time," Harry countered. "This is important."

Harry scratched a hurried note to Luna that read, "Running with Toshiro. Hedwig's on her way. Tell everyone to stay safe. You, too! Harry." He stuffed the message into the letter-poster, zipped the carryall closed, and opened the snowy owl's cage.

The young wizard stroked Hedwig's chest feathers as he said, "Go, girl. Fly to Luna's and stay there until I send for you. Be careful!"

The owl nibbled on his fingers, barked a farewell, and disappeared into the late afternoon sky.

Harry gathered up his bag and broom. Before he could do more, Toshiro pulled him out of the window, tightened his hold around Harry's waist, and leaped into the air. Looking down, Harry saw Nymphadora Tonks in the Dursley's back yard, her wand pointed towards Vernon's unconscious body. In the fractured second their eyes met, Harry knew the truth – the metamorphmagus had witnessed Vernon's attack. An auror sworn to defend and protect, the blood cousin to Harry's godfather, a member of Dumbledore's precious Order, watched the assault and did nothing.

"Damn her. _DAMN THEM ALL TO HELL!_"

"Harry?"

"You can't carry me all of the way to the park. Put me down. Anywhere. We can ride my broom."

"Your broom?"

"Wizard transport. It's faster to show you than explain."

Hitsugaya settled atop the bell tower of a Catholic church, reiatsu holding him in place on the pitched shingles. An arm around Harry's midsection supported the young wizard long enough for him to hover and mount his Firebolt. The broom skewed around, bringing the bristle end closer to Toshiro.

"Climb on behind me," Harry urged the smaller boy.

"Will it hold two of us?" Toshiro asked.

Harry glanced back the way they'd come. Seeker-sharp eyesight caught the tiniest flicker of light-on-metal where none should be.

"They're coming," he shouted. "Mount up!"

Before Toshiro could settle properly or secure his grip, Harry rocketed away from the church at breakneck speed. Hitsugaya yelped and snatched at Harry's ripped and bloody shirt, barely saved from a nasty fall. Wind rushed past his ears with a deafening whistle. All Hitsugaya could do was hold on tight and pray that Potter knew what he was doing.

Harry looked back, growled and poured on more speed. In the distance but coming steadily closer, he saw a group of wizards riding brooms. One flew ahead of the others, about halfway between hunters and prey.

"I count five total," Toshiro reported. "Four are still a ways back, but one is right on our tail!"

Harry risked a quick look over their shoulders. "It's Shack. Kingsley Shacklebolt. An auror and one of Dumbledore's Order. The other four will be Order, as well. Shack's riding a Nimbus 2000. It's almost as fast as my Firebolt. The others are likely riding Comets or Cleansweeps. They're a lot slower, less maneuverable. Even so, they'll overtake us before we reach the park."

The nearest pursuer, a large black man with a gold earring, came close enough to yell over the distance. "Harry, where are you going? Land and we'll talk!"

"Go away, Kingsley! I won't go back just so Uncle Vernon can use my brain for fertilizer!"

"We won't let him!"

"Like you _'didn't let him'_ not fifteen minutes ago? Look at me – I'm covered head to toe in blood! Look at my _face! _Vernon did that and more besides, and not one witch or wizard so much as asked me the time of day, let alone step up to help! Tonks saw it happen and _SHE DID __**NOTHING!**_ Dumbledore, you, the whole _fucking WIZARDING WORLD_ had your chance to earn my trust, and every one of you shot it all to hell! I won't go back – to Privet Drive, Grimmauld Place _OR_ Hogwarts!"

"If you won't land or go back, you leave me no choice."

Shacklebolt pulled out his wand and aimed for the bristles of Harry's Firebolt.

()()()()

()()()()

**Author's Endnote:** In addition to working full time, I'm back to uni for one class in the Fall semester starting tomorrow (Monday, 8/26/13). It's a creative writing class (that's my major, after all), and will require writing a portfolio of poems and short stories. I won't know how much work this will require until I get the syllabus tomorrow. I don't intend for it to interfere _that_ much with my fanfic writing. I already have the next chapter of _Sabaku no Harry_ drafted, and Chapter 32 of RotFH is well over halfway written. I think you'll like them both!

Also, a HUGE hug and thank you to CressidaRene. She is the most AWESOME beta EVER. My friend, thank you so much for everything you do to help make this story so good!


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

**A/N: Remember the author's note at the start of Chapter 29 about the less stressful new job? Yeah. Not so much. It shaped up to be a not-so-nice Christmas for me. As of January 1, 2014, to put it nicely, I am unemployed ... Warm thoughts/prayers/supportive-ritual-of-your-choice would be most welcome. A job offer would be even better. Will work for fanfic! ... and rent money ...**

**A single change to chapter 31: Harry forgot his invisibility cloak! Bad, bad Harry! I made him go back and add it to his carryall.**

**Final note: You would not **_**believe**_** how much work my beta CressidaRene put into this chapter. She found continuity errors, made excellent suggestions, and provided both description and dialogue that raised this chapter from good to AWESOME! She is the most incredible beta EVER! Bless you, Cressie!**

.

Kingsley began to cast, "_Aresto_ – "

Before he could utter another word, a beak and talons ripped into Kingsley Shacklebolt's face even as a flurry of feathers blocked his vision. A furious avian screech drowned out the auror's agonized screams. Caught totally by surprise, his face shredded to bloody ribbons, in some places to the bone, Kingsley grabbed at the creature attached to his head, only for a furiously beating wing to knock his wand from his hand. Shacklebolt's weight shifted wildly, throwing his broom in a dozen directions. Without guidance by either hands or legs, the Nimbus plunged downward.

An instant before broom and rider smashed into the ground, the feathered attacker disengaged and flew skyward again. Slanted sunlight reflected off of snowy wings and a single gold earring, caught on a bloody talon.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried out.

"She bought you the time you need! She's clear!" Toshiro slapped Harry's shoulder. "Fly into the sun where we'll be harder to see!"

"I have a better idea. Hold on!"

Harry tilted the broom straight down into what, for an instant, felt like a suicide dive. Unprepared for the sudden maneuver, Toshiro locked his arms around Harry's torso, ignoring the slivers of glass that dug into his forearms, though he offered a sympathetic wince for how his grip must hurt his mortal companion. The shinigami captain clenched the broom handle with his thighs as best he could through a thousand contortions, twists, whirlpools, backflips, barrel rolls, feints, sideways skews, dips and darts.

Mid-air flight outside of his personal control was a thoroughly disorienting experience. He gave up trying to maintain a sense of up/down/degree-of-tilt. "Here" and "on" required all of his attention.

The Firebolt sliced between two chimneys and plunged into a man-made canyon of trash dumpsters, fire escapes, red bricks and mortar. The sudden lack of sunlight momentarily blinded Toshiro, but Harry kept to his course. He cut left - right - right - left, up and down narrow alleyways. They shot in and out, over and under sagging clothes and power lines. After nearly ten minutes of zipping about, the changing landscape forced them to exchange congested city pathways for open air above lesser populated, suburban terrain.

"I don't see them," Hitsugaya said, never stopping his study of the surrounding skies, though he did loosen his hold on Harry's chest in order to remove pressure from the boy's wounds. "I think we've lost them."

"We have a few minutes. Maybe longer if it takes them time to find us again." Harry looked skyward for any sign of white wings. A lightly cloudy late-afternoon sky painted red and gold by a waning sun grew darker, less welcoming, as heavy clouds appeared on the horizon to the northwest.

"Hedwig, please be okay," Harry murmured fervently.

"I'm sure she's fine," Toshiro reassured the mortal boy. "Before we lost them, I saw two of the rear riders break off to follow the leader to the ground. That leaves only two fliers on slower brooms in direct pursuit, at least until the big man is in the air again. Judging by the damage your owl did to his face, it may take him awhile." After a thoughtful pause, he added, "That owl certainly is loyal to you. I've never seen a bird act like that before."

Harry responded, winded, over his shoulder, "I've had Hedwig since I turned eleven. She's my only friend during summer holidays, when I'm away from Hogwarts. Owls are really useful for wizards to have, I guess, for a lot more than just delivering our mail."

"Hnn."

Toshiro was quiet, but he too cast another look around for Harry's bird. The shinigami captain couldn't help the stray thought that crossed his mind. _I never had a pet before, well, not in Soul Society anyway. I wonder if I ever had a bond with an animal like Harry has with his owl in my previous life? It sounds like it means a lot to him._

Sweating and gasping from the strain of prolonged precision flying, as well as grimacing in pain, Harry slowed down and adjusted the Firebolt's trajectory to skim less than ten feet above a wide, man-made waterway that wove through an immense country club and golf course. Finding a fairway clear of late-afternoon golfers, Harry set them down next to a horseshoe-shaped bunker.

Harry sat on the edge of the sand trap, carryall and broom beside him on the grass. He glanced at his unusual companion and asked, "You alright, mate?"

The small shinigami looked at Harry, his turquoise eyes wide and his fluffy white hair mussed up even worse than it normally was – if such was even possible. "I'm no stranger to high speeds, but Harry, that was INSANE!"

The wizard's face broke into a wild grin. "I know! Wicked, innit?"

Toshiro laughed and shook his head.

_Daniel told me that magicals fly using brooms and carpets, but experiencing it for myself was an incredible rush. Harry is a natural flier. He's as much at home in the air as a shinigami._

Their shared relief lasted only a moment before their situation once more required serious attention. The white-haired shinigami knelt next to the teenage wizard and said, "Take off your shirt." When Harry prepared to object, the reaper captain gave him his best you-do-not-want-to-mess-with-me look, backed by a tiny but deliberate flare of reiatsu. "I need to see how bad they are. Besides, changing your shirt will save you from the glass that hasn't yet punctured your skin. Or mine."

Seen from that perspective, Harry could only agree, however reluctant he might be to reveal his seeming weakness to anyone. While Hitsugaya inspected the cuts and punctures, Potter dug a clean shirt from the carryall. A deep, dark bruise the exact dimensions of Vernon Dursley's fist marred Harry's right shoulder. Judging by the way Harry favored the arm, he still had not regained full use of the limb.

"Most are clean cuts that have already stopped bleeding. However, I can see glass fragments buried in some of the wounds," Toshiro reported as soon as the examination was complete. "The one beside your ear may require stitches. I could try removing the fragments and healing the lacerations with kido, but healing isn't my specialty. There's a good chance I'll miss something. Even though the cuts are painful, I recommend that you wait until you get to the healers in Avalon."

"I've had worse than this in my lifetime," Harry answered, gesturing to his bruised face and bloody arms. The pair of attacks – the prior day's assault outside of Grunnings and that afternoon's violence at Privet Drive – combined to give the boy's entire body a pummeled appearance that no flippant comments could conceal. A dismissive shrug became a wince and a snatched breath when the muscles of his shoulder protested the movement. "As long as I'm not bleeding to death, healing can wait."

"I can at least help with the bruising." Toshiro decided.

Aiming both palms towards the subcutaneous stain on Harry's right shoulder, he closed his eyes, and gathered reiatsu into his hands. Healing kido flowed across the short distance. The green glow warmed Harry's skin and earned the reaper a heartfelt sigh of relief from his impromptu patient. The lurid mark lightened from blacks, purples and blues up to pale greens and yellows. Within 30 seconds, no sign of the contusion remained.

Toshiro then directed his healing kido to Harry's still puffy and bruised face, the product of Vernon Dursley's attack on the previous day. The boy may have been used to abuse and frequent injuries, as he had implied, but the least Hitsugaya could do was offer this bit of relief. Similar, smaller discolorations on his arms and torso received identical kido treatment and disappeared just as quickly.

"There," Toshiro said once the more serious swellings and discolorations had been tended. "The bruises and some of the tenderness should be gone. Captain DuLay can repair the rest once we get to Camelot."

When Toshiro released the healing kido, Harry gave his right arm first a tentative then a more confident rotation to test both the level of discomfort and his range of motion. Though the surface sting from dozens of cuts remained, the joint-locking ache of deep tissue damage was gone. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, too, noticing a sizable improvement as the dull ache in his jaw had faded.

"Excellent," Potter said, grinning. "You heal bruises faster that Madame Pomfrey! Believe me, I've had lots of experience with her."

Toshiro met the boy's gratitude with a more solemn look. "Before we go airborne again, let me know if my weight is slowing you down. In shinigami form, I can move as fast in midair as your broom can fly. It will also leave me more room to fight."

"Maybe so," Harry said as he carefully (and with Toshiro's help) eased his arms into the clean shirt, "but we can't risk being separated. Without you to open that special gate of yours, I might as well go back to my prison."

"I would never let us become separated," Hitsugaya vowed.

"There's plenty of open land right where we are." Harry gestured towards the rolling fairways, roughs, bunkers, tree groves, and water hazards. "No one will see us. Can we open the gate here?"

"Reapers can open a gate anywhere, even in midair." Toshiro's white eyebrows pinched together. His eyes darkened with regret and a glint of timidity. "It's more complicated for a mortal traveler. We're having enough trouble because the passage isn't completely ready for you."

Harry stared, wide-eyed. "What do you mean, it's not ready?"

"Setting up a Senkeimon, a gateway, for a normal mortal is rare but relatively easy, even if it is time-consuming," Toshiro explained. "In your case, it's much different. As far as I know, you could be the first_ magical _mortal to be allowed into any of the Seven Heavens in the last one thousand years. The gate must be custom-designed to synchronize with your unique magic signature."

"Why are magicals ... why am _I_ different?" Harry exclaimed in frustration. "I'm human!"

"Yes, you are," Toshiro agreed. "But in addition to a normal human's spiritual energy, you also possess a magical core. I don't know the specific steps required, but from what I do understand, the shape, intensity, frequency, and strength of that core are unique to each witch or wizard. There's no such thing as a one-size-fits-all gate for mortals with unusual powers like Ichigo Kurosaki, or for wizards like yourself."

Harry hung his head, groaned and tore up a fistful of manicured grass. "Why is my life always so complicated? You don't know what it's like! I'm considered different even by wizarding standards. Even the most bizarre things twist a half-turn to the side!"

"I don't know – " Toshiro growled mostly to himself then shook his head. They didn't have time to argue emotions or to share similar sob-stories. He had to focus on getting the both of them to safety. "Speaking of the gate..." Toshiro pulled his soul phone from inside his shihakusho and punched in a number. "There's been a change in plans," he said in place of any greeting. "We need the gate in ... Harry, how far to the park?"

Harry looked around but found no recognizable landmarks. Still upset, he was a touch sharper in tone than he needed to be. "Bloody hell if I know."

"Take a guess, then," Toshiro snapped back in his best Captain's voice.

Harry looked at his watch: 8:04 PM. They'd left Privet Drive somewhere close to 7:30, but they had not flown in anything approximating a straight line. He calculated roughly how far and fast they'd flown, including how often he'd turned back on his own broom bristles, and tried to recall any pre-Hogwarts geography lessons that might help pinpoint their location. Despite the Dursleys' pretensions in regards to social climbing, Harry had never heard of (or needed to learn anything about) the more well-heeled private clubs and golf courses located in and around Surrey. Given the grandiose size and extensive landscaping of the facility, this one was more affluent than most.

"It _is _just a guess, mind," Harry qualified his answer, "but at full speed, I'd say ten minutes, give or take. That is _if_ we can find the park right off."

"Ten minutes, fifteen maximum," Hitsugaya reported to the person on the other end. "I know it isn't finished or tested. We have hostile magicals searching for us. It won't take them long to track us down, especially whenever we stop moving. We need that gate in the next fifteen minutes. ... Daniel-_san_, please don't waste time arguing. ... Dursley-_yarou_ (1)tried to _kill_ Harry! ... I understand_._ ... Do what you can. I'll contact you when reach the park."

Toshiro closed and put away the soul phone with a huff of irritation. Harry gave him a wary eye and asked, "You _did_ get permission for me to come tonight. Didn't you?"

()()()()

Albus Dumbledore stared at the face in his fireplace and snarled, "Dursley did _what?_"

"He beat Harry near half-to-death, might've meant to kill him!" Nymphadora Tonks repeated her exclamation. Her expression reflected intense anger and crushing guilt. The metamorphmagus's hair cycled wildly through a spectrum of colors, noticeable even when viewed through the green flames. "I ... I ... After the rollickin' I got from Madam Bones, I shouldn't've let you talk me into standin' a tour on watch. I hesitated for just a second, thinking what would happen if she found out I'd used magic on a muggle, whatever the reason. All she'd care about was me being where she'd gave me a direct order not to be. I heard the glass shatter ... by the time I made it to the back yard ... I thought Dursley wouldn't dare hit Harry again where anyone might see. By the time I realized he meant to pound Harry into the ground, maybe even kill him, someone else stepped in and stopped him." 

"Someone?" Dumbledore's eyes sharpened to needle points. "Who?"

Tonks shook her head. "I only got a slivery glimpse of him. It was the little boy that was the cause of all that muck-up at Hogwarts. Remember the one? A tiny thing, no older than a first-year, with hair white as Christmas snow."

Caught up in remembering details of the event, Tonks didn't notice Dumbledore freeze and stare, mouth agape in shock. _It can't possibly be ... yet the description matches. It could not be anyone else._ He tuned back into the young auror, catching her in mid-sentence, " – funny black and white robes and a honkin' sword near as long as he was tall!"

_Yes. It definitely was the spirit from the homunculus._ Dumbledore ground his teeth in frustration._ Curse my luck! He was that close. If only I could have recaptured him. They'd never have found him a second time._

Dumbledore's eyelids twitched as another thought jumped into his head. _That day in the hospital wing, Harry proved that he could somehow manipulate their incomprehensible form of, for lack of a better term, magic. Are they attempting to court him or recruit him? Do they intend to TRAIN him in their bizarre craft? No! That cannot be allowed. A super-powered Harry Potter, with unstudied abilities and outside of any Light-side control, is a worst-case scenario. When he inevitably goes Dark, we will have no defense against him._

It took every scrap of the old wizard's willpower to maintain an anxious, benign demeanor. He could not, however, stop the wild shaking of his clenched fists. Fortunately, the overly long sleeves of his robes hid the traitorous tremors, as well as the drops of blood that fell from nail-punctures in his palms.

"What happened then?" he asked, keeping his voice even, but with a deliberate tone of urgency. "What did this strange boy do? Did Harry react like he was hurt, or that they knew one another?"

"Harry looked a real fright, he did, what with the bad cuts from falling through the glass and bruises from the fat muggle's fists. Harry stupefied the bloated pig then stumbled into the house. As for them knowing each other, it didn't look it at first. Harry was too intent on getting back into the house to notice anyone or anything. After Harry left the yard, the white-haired boy disappeared like he'd never been there. _PFFFT!_ A puff of wind an' he was just gone! I thought I'd heal Dursley and change his memories a bit so he'd maybe stop poundin' on Harry. I heard something above me and looked up.

"The strange boy knelt on Harry's bedroom window sill and ... I can't explain what he did better than to say it looked like he was jumpin' across thin air, like it was solid as the ground, hangin' onto Harry like he weighed nothing! I didn't see a wand or anything of the like. Harry was holding a full bag and his Firebolt. Next thing I knew, they were gone. Shack showed up about then. He and a few others from the Order pulled out their brooms an' took off after them. I heard apparition cracks in the front yard at the same time as an owl arrived from the Ministry, likely because Harry used magic. I figured it was best I got out of there before anyone saw me and word got back to Madam Bones. Figgy's house was close, so I came here straight away to floo-call you."

Dumbledore gave her a cursory nod of approval. "Yes, quite right. Excellent decision, dear girl."

_Stupid bint! She let them get away to save herself. I had such high hopes for her, given her shapeshifting ability and her Black bloodline. With Sirius dead, Malfoy disgraced and given my support, there is a possibility that Nymphadora could be made heir to the Black family titles and fortune. Despite that, she is becoming a bitter disappointment. If she doesn't start proving useful, I'll have to do something drastic. Tonks is an auror, trained specifically for infiltration and surveillance. Add to that, she's privy to the innermost workings of the Order and knows far too much about my activities. Without an attendant benefit, I cannot leave her anywhere within Bones' sphere of influence_.

The bearded wizard offered Tonks a masterful smile filled with benevolent understanding. Beneath it, a cauldron of vindictiveness frothed at full boil. "Keep your eyes and ears open. Learn everything you can about either Harry's whereabouts or the location and activities of this white-haired boy. Both are vitally important, but do not endanger either yourself or your position to learn anything." _She'd damn well better do whatever she has to do, else I'll have no reason to keep her alive. I will not abide disloyalty – either to me or to the Light._ "When you find anything, even something that seems trivial, contact me as soon as you can."

Tonks nodded once then her head disappeared from the hearth. The fire changed from floo green to true flames.

Alone in his office, with no one to witness – the portraits being spelled to never reveal anything that happened in the Headmaster's office – Albus Dumbledore drew his wand and bellowed in fury. A barrage of destructive spells flew in every direction. Delicate trinkets and curios shattered into miniscule fragments. Mirror and glass shattered. Wood splintered. Spells used in deep mining to pulverize stone punched shield-sized divots deep into Hogwarts' ancient walls. The pensieve cabinet exploded, along with 282 delicate crystal vials of stored memories – some voluntarily given, others either subtly or forcibly stolen. The pensieve cracked and fell to the floor, suffering additional damage.

The contents of both bowl and vials soaked into the plush carpet. A silvery vapor rose from the spill, images from memory fragments shimmering in and out of view. Both natural wind from the damaged windows and artificial gusts caused by the wizard's wild spellcasting shredded the fog and carried it away. The churning gale snatched at the blaze in the fireplace, turning it into a fire vortex hot enough to burn everything it touched to white cinders.

The scorching heat caused Dumbeldore to pause momentarily in his rampage. Seeing the irreversible damage done to his precious library of memories, especially those concerning the homunculi, Dumbledore lost what little hold he had on rational thought. Fawkes' old perch fell victim to a direct fire spell that vaporized metal and wood – something that should not have been possible, considering the protections required for a phoenix's burning days. The great telescope melted to slag. Between Dumbledore's curses and the fire tornado, dozens of books burned, even those charmed against fire and flood.

Only arcane and extraordinarily powerful preservation charms protected the Sorting Hat and the portraits, though not for lack of effort on Dumbledore's part. The destruction continued until the Hogwarts headmaster panted, clutched at his chest, and leaned against the pitted wall next to the window. He slid to the floor half conscious, covered head to toe in sweat, soot, dust, and debris. Gray-faced, his heart beating an irregular rhythm, the old wizard remained there close to ten minutes. An appalling shroud of smoke from evaporated woods and metals tainted what little air he pulled into his lungs, but he had neither the strength nor the mental acuity to do anything about it. His magical core, already depleted due to the battle two weeks prior with the orange-haired demon, was utterly spent.

When the Headmaster once more connected to his surroundings, the fit had passed, leaving him rational once more. Magical exhaustion settled heavier on his stooped shoulders, worsening his already worrisome condition.

"I have to do something," he spoke aloud as he struggled to his feet. "Perhaps it isn't too late. What to do, what to do. The Order? No, only if Shacklebolt succeeds in capturing Harry, the homunculus, or both. The way my luck has gone of late, I cannot rely on that happening. I need a contingency plan. I can't contain this scenario alone. As powerful as I am, in spite of this exhaustion ... I will deal with Pomfrey's refusal to help me as soon as I have a moment of time. Perhaps I can visit a healer in Hogsmeade. Or London. Yes, there are mediwitches and mediwizards in London. And there is St. Patrick's in Dublin."

The elderly wizard shook himself and pulled his fragmented reasoning back into a vague semblance of order. A superior smile crossed his face, a frightening counter to the unholy light in his eyes.

"If I handle it correctly, Amelia Bones will solve my problem for me. Yes. An excellent idea."

Dumbledore looked around and, for the first time, noted the destruction with a calm, conscious mind. "Oh dear. I certainly made something of a mess." His gaze fell on the portion of the room where the phoenix's perch once stood. He moaned and shook his head. "Oh my. Where will Fawkes relax when he comes home? As for the rest of the office ... I can't leave it as it is. Who knows when I will have a visitor." He called out, "Babby, come to me."

The elderly house elf appeared with a soft pop. Babby blinked her tennis-ball eyes. Floppy, batwing ears twitched and arched. She stared at the utter destruction, disbelieving, trembling and afraid.

Regaining his outer calm-voiced façade, Dumbledore instructed his servant, "Clean the room. Repair what you can, but don't throw away anything remotely salvageable," her master ordered. "I will repair anything you can't when I return from a meeting at the Ministry. Do not let anyone into the office until I have a chance to set everything to rights."

After a momentary visit to his living quarters for clean robes, a quick wash up and a dose of pepper-up potion, Albus Dumbledore flooed to the Ministry of Magic in London, leaving a distressed house elf to deal with the aftermath of his psychotic break.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts heard the gossip the instant he stepped into the transportation hub of the Ministry's central governmental building. Between speculations, innuendo, third- or fourth-hand eyewitness accounts, outrageous gossip, and Nymphadora Tonks' first-hand report, he quickly pieced together an accurate timeline of events.

Members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had arrived at Privet Drive, expecting to find a situation typical for an outburst of teenage angst. A similar flare-up had occurred three summers prior at the same location, when Harry Potter accidentally caused his Aunt Marge to blow up like a balloon and promptly float away. Instead, they found Vernon Dursley unconscious in the back yard, his wife Petunia distraught and incoherent, Harry Potter missing, the patio doors destroyed from the inside, and a large amount of blood amidst the glass and debris.

The squad's commander raised an immediate alarm in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The senior auror on duty contacted the DMLE director, Amelia Bones, within three minutes of the first report.

Dumbledore took the lift to the floor that housed the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. By deliberate design, he traveled with two auror trainees who were deeply engrossed in discussing the day's spectacular events. Upon orders from Director Bones, squads of aurors were scattered throughout Little Whinging and its surrounding suburbs, all tasked with finding and detaining Harry Potter, whether he left his home voluntarily or was taken by force.

Armed with this information, Albus Dumbledore arrived at Madam Bones' office within minutes of the auror mobilization.

The room reflected its occupant – stern, spartan, no-frills, and professional. No useless trinkets decorated either furniture or shelves. Instead, several dark-detectors, including two foe glasses and a top-of-the-line sneakoscope, lay within easy view of the director's chair. A single painting hung on the wall, also within easy sight of the desk – Dumbledore recognized its occupant (a young aristocrat dressed in the height of Elizabethan fashion) as the DMLE's connection to its secret counterparts in MI-5. The wall shelves held a few prestigious awards (including an Order of Merlin, First Class) and plaques that proclaimed her Defense and Charms Masteries, but law books, reference tomes, grimoires, and scrolls took up the vast majority of space.

In the corner farthest from the door, a body dummy held a black vest, red cloak and helmet, all made from the finest ironbelly dragonhide. Beside the dummy, a plain mahogany book stand held a security-spelled record of the major ward schematics for Ministry headquarters, every market and alley throughout the British Isles, St. Mungo's Hospital in London, St. Patrick's Trauma Center in Dublin, the magical portion of King's Cross Station, Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts – pretty much any public location that might require immediate access by the aurors. Dumbledore yearned to lay hands on that book for even an hour, hungry for all of the priceless information it must hold.

The only personal item in the entire suite was a photo triptych of Amelia and her niece, Susan, which sat to one side of the ink well and quill caddy. The three images showed happy times and smiles – a child's birthday party complete with streamers and magical fireworks, first-year Susan standing on the Hogwarts main steps clad in her Hogwarts robes, and the two sharing a quiet picnic in a dappled glade near a pond located on the family's estate.

One look at the room's tenant told the old wizard all he needed to know. Amelia Bones was not in a good mood and most assuredly not thrilled to see him.

"What do you want, Dumbledore?" the stern-faced witch in multilayered black robes asked before he could offer a smile of greeting. Dark eyes, one of them decorated with a silver-framed monocle, rose from the sheets of photos and parchment in her hands. "I don't have time to cater to you today, so unless this is urgent – "

Albus used his best officiating, Headmasterly voice peppered with a hint of urgency, hoping his position would curry some favor with the witch. "I'm here concerning Harry Potter."

"Why am I not surprised?" Bones huffed irritably, laid everything on her desk, and rubbed her forehead. "Hasn't the recent attention you have received from government, law enforcement, civilians, and media taught you anything? I hear that Molly Weasley's howlers are especially imaginative. Considering how far you are under a magnifying glass, you shouldn't even be here, let alone sticking your nose into what is unquestionably a law enforcement situation."

Seeing the older wizard open his mouth, she held up a stiff finger in a "not-a-single-word" gesture. "Before you use your position as Harry's headmaster as an excuse, it is the summer holidays. You have absolutely no business in his affairs. Stick to your school and your duties to the Wizengamot, Dumbledore. Leave everything else to those directly involved."

"Petunia Dursley may be his guardian in the Muggle world, but I am Harry's _magical_ guardian, so I do have a right," Dumbledore replied. "However, that isn't the only reason I am here. I have information."

Though her expression was both hostile and wary, the Director turned to face him. Arms crossed over her chest, monocle glass gleaming in the room's magicked lighting, she answered, "Information?"

Bones grudgingly motioned him toward a grouping of four chairs set to one side of the office. As soon as he settled in one, she took another. Her body language screamed reluctance.

_I must choose every word with care,_ the Hogwarts Headmaster reminded himself. _I tread a thin, slippery line between a zealous but accidental overstep of my powers and a deliberate attempt to circumvent the law._

"As you know, Voldemort's resurrection is now confirmed. Harry Potter will be his first and foremost target, as he was back in 1981. With what was thought to be Sirius Black's exposure as the Dark Lord's agent, I was given magical guardianship of the child. As such, I was the one who placed Harry with his aunt, the one surviving family member who carried Lily Potter's blood. So long as Harry remains with his aunt and her family, the blood wards will protect him."

Impatience rang clear in Amelia's voice. "How does this connect to what happened today?"

_Impatient hag. Let me finish and you'll know the answer!_ "The ritual used in the resurrection included Harry's blood. Though the protections still extend to everyone who carries a Dark Mark, I feared that Voldemort himself might be able to pass through. If that happened, we needed some form of warning. In hindsight, I see that I acted rashly and with an unintentional disregard for protocol. Last summer, I placed certain protections and alarms on both Harry and his home that would signal any danger."

"You're monitoring Harry Potter?" Amelia's eyes narrowed. "Without approval from his Muggle guardians, the Wizengamot, or the Ministry? What could you use that surpasses the Ministry Trace already on him? As both Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot _and_ the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, I'm sure you know _precisely_ how many domestic and international laws you have broken."

"Amelia, please understand." Albus shoved as much 'genuine concern' as he could into his voice – aided by a subtle trust-me spell cast on his pinky ring. The ring, in turn, lay beneath a notice-me-not charm. _Since the spell isn't cast directly on the three-eyed bat herself, none of her alarms will catch it. Unfortunately, it means the manipulation will be subtle and subject to her force of will which I know to be quite formidable. She has to be minimally sympathetic for the charm to have any appreciable effect._ "I know I shouldn't have, but I am very concerned for Harry. After the battle in the atrium of this very building, everyone now knows that Voldemort has returned. Cornelius refused to believe either Harry or me after the tragic end to the Triwizard Tournament. Because of the Minister's stubborn refusal to accept the truth, we are woefully unprepared for the dark times ahead. Our enemies have had an entire year to gather followers and resources and to plan attacks in both the magical and muggle worlds."

"You are not telling me anything that I don't already know," Bones snapped at him. "It's _my_ department that Fudge slashed by almost sixty percent! With every available trainee on a fast-track through the academy, we're still six months away from having a minimal task force ready to deploy. Even then, seventy percent of my aurors will be inexperienced rookies, desk officers with little field experience, or seniors within ten years of mandatory retirement. And that is _IF_ the Ministry can find the funds for the manpower and equipment."

"True, but do you know this?" Albus tossed her another piece of bait. "According to the results from the monitoring and tracking charms I've placed on the child, I strongly suspect that Harry's guardians have become increasingly more abusive. The mistreatment is most certainly verbal, perhaps even physical. I believe that any violence the dear boy experienced today was at the hands of his 'loving family,' his uncle in particular."

The Director of the DMLE studied Dumbledore, one eye distorted by her monocle. Her expression was unmistakably suspicious. "Has Potter admitted anything that can support that suspicion?" 

"Unfortunately, no, but all of the signs are there. As an experienced educator that has lived as long as I have, I can easily spot signs of abuse. I have offered to help, if nothing more than to be a friendly ear, but the boy closes up. Pre-conditioned by his early years, no doubt, when he had no one to serve as his champion. I admit to having done some discreet checking into the Dursleys – Vernon is having problems at work, is increasingly short-tempered, and has taken to drink. Even his wife and son showed signs of fear." Seeing a dark storm in the head auror's expression, Dumbledore bowed his head and said, "Yes, my concerns caused me to overstep my bounds, but when my charms alerted me today to the happenings on Privet Drive, I cannot regret having placed them."

Dumbledore heaved a huge, 'helpless' sigh. "Madam, we can debate the rights or wrongs of my actions at a future time. For now, our primary concern should and _must_ be Harry Potter's wellbeing. He has been taken from his home, most likely against his will, by someone on whom we have no reliable information. I do admit to hearing some tongue-wags as I entered the building. If the descriptions are accurate, the white-haired youth from the events two weeks ago at Hogwarts may be involved in Harry's disappearance."

"That's not good." Bones reached the conclusion Dumbledore had aimed her towards. "Considering how ill he was treated by Severus Snape, this strange youth's presence near Harry Potter may be a prelude to some form of revenge. We need more information. Is the boy acting alone or in sync with others from his society? Has he tricked Harry into leaving voluntarily, or was it a violent kidnapping?"

A knock gave them enough warning to look up. Before Amelia could call out either a permission or denial to enter, the door opened ahead of a flustered auror trainee who wore a communications badge on the front of her robes.

"Madam Bones," the girl gasped, out of breath from hurrying to deliver her message. "We've received word from St. Mungo's. Senior Auror Shacklebolt has been brought in with severe injuries to his head and shoulders. Before losing consciousness, he reported seeing Harry Potter and a boy with white hair riding Harry's Firebolt. The last he saw, they were traveling southwest at full flight speed."

"That confirms it," Albus said, seizing on the opportunity provided. "The strange boy is responsible for both Harry's disappearance from Privet Drive _and_ for injuring one of your finest aurors. Knowing Auror Shacklebolt as I do, I'm sure he tried to open a peaceful dialogue, yet look what happened."

_Come along, dear Amelia. Follow where I lead you._ "Despite my suspicions concerning Vernon Dursley's temper, the strangers must be responsible for the evidence of struggle, the attack on Dursley, and the blood that indicates Harry is injured, perhaps seriously. From what I recall of the strangers' powers, they have an ability to cast a form of wandless magic. When they do use objects to focus their magic through, it is invariably some form of bladed weapon. As far as I can tell, they do not have as wide a range of spells such as we do, but those they do possess are incredibly powerful. Also, age seems to be an indicator of power. The younger fighters used one or two spells, while the older ones displayed three or more abilities."

Madam Bones absorbed the details of the foreign wizards then finally asked, "What do you suggest?"

_YES! At last! Calm down, Albus. You must stay calm. Breathe deep and think carefully. Amelia is too smart, too alert. She catches every twitch and twinkle. I cannot let anything betray me to her eagle eyes._

Dumbledore took an infinitesimal breath, picking his words carefully then continued, "Without accurate information on these strangers, we dare not take any risk. Harry must be recovered. Loathsome as it is, extreme violence may be necessary. I recommend that you instruct your aurors to use whatever means necessary to stop the kidnappers and recover our young friend. Once Harry is safe, I can take him to Hogwarts. Between the strengthened wards and other heightened security arrangements, he will be protected from both these strangers and his abusive relatives."

_Most important of all, he will be fully under my control. Harry can perform a portion of the same abilities as the strangers – that related to healing. There is a small chance – a small one, granted, but a chance nonetheless – that he can harness other skills._

_I don't need the white-haired brat or any of his kin. Once inside Hogwarts, I can spend as much time as needed to both learn the secrets of this new power and redouble my efforts to break Harry down to a perfect sacrificial pawn._

()()()()

Harry's expression was both irate and dismayed.

"Toshiro? Did you get permission?"

The small soul reaper tried to evade the question. "We should mount up and head for the park."

"You didn't. _Toshiro!_ Oh, bloody hell!"

For a moment, Hitsugaya thought the outburst to be directed at him. Seeing Harry's attention drawn elsewhere, the shinigami turned. More magicals on brooms approached from the east, skimming low enough to leave rooster tail plumes in the man-made river. Even to Toshiro's untrained eye, these riders were more experienced. Their brooms moved faster and cut quicker than the ones used by their earlier pursuers.

The pair leapt onto the Firebolt and rocketed skyward. Harry poured on the speed and increased their altitude as fast as he could without unseating his passenger, who he figured was inexperienced with broom travel. Spell beams flew by, but the distance between casters and target was still too great for accuracy. They mostly served to herd Harry in the direction the trailing wizards most wanted him to go – away from the city, with its taller buildings, and towards unpopulated hills, fields and meadows. The agrarian terrain not only lessened the danger of witnesses but allowed room for coordinated attacks.

Within two minutes' flight time, both hunters and hunted were clear of organized civilization.

"Five – no, six." Toshiro looked down. "Two more below us make eight. Even if we had reached the city, you wouldn't be able to use the same evasion tactics again." The small captain rose to his feet, reiatsu holding him on the wildly jagging broomstick. "Maneuver however you need. I won't fall off. Stay above them if you can and don't be startled by what happens!"

"You're going to fight them?" Harry yelled over the rush of wind, shocked at the smaller boy's daring acrobatics, standing on his Firebolt, facing towards their pursuers.

"They aren't leaving us any choice," Toshiro shouted, his voice set with resolve.

"But – "

Harry looked back, intending further argument. Emerald green eyes widened even as the pursuing wizards cast a simultaneous salvo of multi-colored beams, all meant to incapacitate their targets or bring down the broom. Potter cursed and added more speed.

It was a useless attempt, and Harry knew it. He'd recognized the crimson robes worn by their pursuers. He had seen them briefly only a few weeks ago during the aftermath of their battle with the Death Eaters – the standard uniform of the Ministry's Auror Corps. These wizards were not a ragtag mix of civilians from Dumbledore's Order. They were professional law enforcement officers – knowledgeable, experienced, and trained to work as a team. Against eight such skilled and seasoned wizards, they could never evade everything they threw at them.

Toshiro's strong voice cut through the dusky air._ "Bakudo no san ju kyu: Enkosen!"_

A five-foot tall, dull yellow, spinning disk formed in front of Toshiro's outstretched hands, shielding not only himself and Harry but also the Firebolt. Spell after spell impacted against the condensed reiatsu barrier, bursting in a staccato display of shattered light. None of the spells reached their intended targets. Blinded by the sparkle and flare, the aurors held their fire and waited for clearer visibility.

Before the final flash faded, Toshiro released the _enkosen_, pointed two fingers at the enemy and chanted, _"Hado no san ju ichi: Shakkaho!"_

Harry felt a rush of intense heat an instant before an orb of red energy appeared in front of Hitsugaya's fingers and shot away. The aurors sideslipped the spell without a second to spare. Though the evasion spared them direct injury, the dodge bled off speed, leaving the aurors farther behind. The _shakkaho_, being a duel-purpose attack that burned as well as exploded, slammed into a tree, blasting it to splinters. The barrage of flaming debris and concussive force disrupted their flight even further, gaining Harry and Toshiro valuable seconds and distance.

"Don't hurt them!" Harry pleaded. "They're not Dumbledore's people. They're aurors. Magical policemen. They're just doing their jobs!"

_"Chikusho!"_ (2) Toshiro spat in frustration.

His mind raced through the various kido chants before finding the most promising, a bakudo that offered both versatility and range. The Squad 10 captain turned his attention to the pair of fliers stationed beneath them, being both the nearest and least maneuverable of their pursuers.

"_Bakudo no kyu: Horin!"_

An orange and white kido rope shot from Hitsugaya's right index and middle fingers, one end questing for its target while the other remained attached to its castor. The free end wrapped around the handle of the nearest auror's broom and yanked it straight up. With a startled scream, the female auror lost her seat and plummeted towards the ground some twenty-five feet below. Before she covered a fifth of the distance, the tendril released the broom and coiled around her waist, leaving her suspended in midair, dragged behind them at the Firebolt's insane speed. A second _horin_ flew from Toshiro's left hand and snatched another auror from his seat. Wielding the tensile energy strands like whips, Toshiro slammed his scarlet-robed captives into one another with stunning force, connecting the kido together and binding them back-to-back, arms flush against their sides. He dropped the pair into the crown of a tall oak tree, unharmed but unable to continue their pursuit.

Before Toshiro could direct the _horin_ to a third target, a staccato procession of jinxes and hexes demanded that he cancel the offensive kido and once more pull up the _enkosen_. He grunted against the strain, but the shield held. The second barrage carried more power than the first, disarming, cutting and bludgeoning curses taking the place of stunners and restraints.

Toshiro forced himself to focus on the moment, to strategize his next move. He could not let the wand-users' spells affect him, to take him back to that hell of a dungeon where he faced spell after spell without any way of protecting himself or returning attacks of his own.

_No! I have no time for those thoughts! __Things are different now. I know what I'm dealing with. They will not gain control over me, ever again._

With the two aurors removed from beneath them, Harry could dive down and weave between hills and trees and the rare estate, barn and shepherd's hut. Even part of his mind focused on flying, dodging and trying to outmaneuver their pursuers, another part found it amazing – his diminutive companion had no trouble staying firmly connected to his Firebolt, no matter how steep his dives or how sudden his movements. Harry didn't know of any sticking charms that worked nearly so well.

Taking advantage of a moment when they were shielded by another structure Harry had darted behind, Hitsugaya cancelled the _enkosen_ and released a tightly controlled, _"Hado no san ju san: Sokatsui!"_

A blue flame created entirely from spiritual energy discharged from his forward-facing right palm. As a kido master, Hitsugaya could regulate the amount of power he fed to his attacks. Remembering Harry's admonition against hurting the "police" wizards, the shinigami captain crafted the wave at the lowest possible strength. He aimed for the center of the auror group and not at a specific flier, hoping to scatter their formation, slow them down, and allow Harry to gain a slightly larger lead.

Unfortunately, one wizard zigged when he should have zagged. The outside edge of the low-powered kido obliterated half the bristles of his Nimbus 2002 and threw him into an immediate nosedive. Before Toshiro could worry that he'd seriously injured or killed the man, the auror vanished in midair, reappearing a moment later as a tumbling heap along the ground. Unfortunately for the auror, his landing site was a knobby hillock topped by rough boulders and wild hedgerows. The impact would certainly leave its mark.

Experienced with running battles, Toshiro Hitsugaya did not let the early victories cloud his judgment or distract him from the remaining five threats. Focusing only on the task before him, he alternated shields and attacks, hoping to remove more of the aurors. Unfortunately, the wizards learned quickly. They anticipated the few low-level kido incantations that worked mid- to long-range and soon determined the best way to counter them.

"I've taken out three," Toshiro called over his shoulder to Harry, "but the others are working together, two shielding while the other three fire curses. I can't use the stronger incantations without hurting them."

"Ministry Aurors are the best there are. They're trained to pursue and fight dark wizards. They're learning how to defend against your spells," Harry called over the rush of wind, "and they're too fast."

"I know," Toshiro yelled in exasperation. "They're staying just far enough back to keep me from hitting them at point-blank range."

"That's good for us, too," Harry answered, trying to find a bright spot in their situation.

"True, but they're in a group, covering for each other, and firing straight ahead. You have to watch for obstacles in front and dodge spells from behind. We'll never escape with my kido restricted by _geiten kaijo_ and your flying alone," Toshiro evaluated their situation evenly, then decided. "I have to risk _shikai_."

Hyorinmaru slid from its scabbard with a metallic _shhhhhink_.

"What are you – " Harry caught sight of the drawn steel. _"Ruddy hell!"_

Toshiro held the katana over his head and shouted, _"Soten ni zase! Hyorinmaru!" (3)_

Intense cold, like a northern blast of deepest winter, destroyed every trace of summer's warmth.

Harry's ears popped with a sudden plunge in barometric pressure. Wind, clouds, sleet, snowflakes and ice crystals formed and swirled around them in an ever-tightening column. The distant storm clouds sprang forward, racing across the sky to meet them, adding moisture and mass to the air. Sheet lightning split the heavens and brought a momentary brightness to the deepening gloom, accompanied by thunder loud enough to feel throughout his body. Visible rings of power cold enough to burn pulsated outwards.

The Firebolt cut through the air, the center of a giant hurricane of snow and ice.

Harry could ignore the way every hair responded to the static charge, but he could not hold down a physical reaction to a chill ten times worse than that generated by a hundred dementors. He gasped in relief when a small pocket of warm air bubbled up around him, although it was barely enough to push away what otherwise would have been a paralyzing plunge in body temperature. Toshiro's leg, when it occasionally brushed against Harry's back, felt colder than a metal rod in mid-winter. In spite of what protections his flying companion had extended to him, Harry's teeth chattered against each other hard enough to hear over the roaring of the gale. His hands clamped tight to the Firebolt's ebony wood handle as his muscles spasmed and his entire body shook.

Enduring the discomfort as best as he could, Harry concentrated on avoiding the increasingly accurate spell-fire and trusted his new friend to deal with their pursuers.

Until the dragon roared.

()()()()

No sooner had Amelia Bones spread a map across her desk than four senior aurors hurried into her office.

The oldest of the quartet – a grizzle-faced, brown-skinned man equal in age, experience and scarring to Alastor Moody – saluted his commander even as he reported, "Madam Bones, Auror Hawthorne reports contact in Section 10, zone DS-16. The target is aware of their presence and has attempted flight. The squad is in pursuit."

"Where is he?" Dumbledore demanded, startling the aurors with his sudden rush forward. The two men and two women, all seasoned aurors, reflexively reached for their wands. "The Potter brat! Where is he!"

"Enough, Dumbledore!" Bones commanded. "Back away. NOW!"

Albus tried to reinstate his loving, concerned persona, but the damage was done. "But, Amelia, I – "

"Magical guardian or no, I will not have you interfering, _especially_ after you so lovingly called him a _brat!_" Stiff-jawed with outrage, the head of the DMLE drew a white ash wand from her left sleeve. Holding it against her thigh ready for instant use, Amelia took a deliberate step away from the bearded wizard. Her momentarily lulled suspicions returned one hundred-fold. "You will return straightaway to Hogwarts and not pursue Harry Potter. I will contact you as soon as I have any news."

The expression on her face left absolutely no room for negotiation.

"Give me your word, Dumbledore. Either I have it or you do not leave this room until the Potter situation is resolved." As the aged Headmaster of Hogwarts opened his mouth to offer a glib, meaningless assurance, Director Bones qualified her demand. "I do not mean a simple promise, easily voiced and just as readily ignored. I want a magical oath."

Dumbledore seethed in fury inside his mind. _Damn you, you interfering old cow! And damn myself. One slip, one momentary loss of focus, and I lose everything I gained from our earlier discussion._

"Very well, dear Amelia," he sighed dramatically and slumped in dejection. The theatrics were lost on the stern witch. He raised his wand and recited, "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do promise to return to Hogwarts where I will await word on the outcome of today's events. I will return there straightaway and not pursue Harry Potter."

A pearlescent light pulsed three times and flowed into Dumbledore, sealing the oath. He returned his wand to its sheath, stuffed his hands up both sleeves, and bowed to the witch.

"With that," he said, "I will take my leave. I hope to hear favorable news from you soon. Despite what you might believe from my earlier outburst, which I admit was both disrespectful and inappropriate, I really am most concerned for the boy's safety. I fear my anxiety from the evening's events has put me out of sorts tonight, that is all."

The director gave him a sharp half-nod and turned back to her aurors.

Albus Dumbledore stood there a moment, dumbfounded. He had not been so callously dismissed, as though he were nothing more than another faceless Ministry lackey, in almost one hundred years! Even his final act of contrition had done him no favors with the Director of the DMLE. It was as sincere as he could make it. It should have reassured her.

Bones studied the map spread across her desk and instructed the assembled team leaders, "Send squads to Section 10, zones DS-15, DT-16, DU-18, and DU-19. Cut off any further westbound flight. As soon as I can gather a secondary force, we'll converge from all sides and box them in. Under no circumstances are they to reach the coast or lose themselves in a densely populated area."

Seeing no reason to remain other than to attempt – most certainly in vain – to establish his dominance over the witch, Dumbledore turned on a slippered heel and exited the office in a poorly contained fury. No grandfatherly twinkle brightened his blue eyes. The full, long beard could not hide the way his jaw muscles jerked or the way his teeth gnashed together. Dumbledore's entire body hummed like a too-tight guitar string – the urge to curse Bones with all of his unparalleled power was nigh overwhelming.

Fortunately for him, Bones did not note his unmistakably foul mood. Had she seen his expression, the Director of the DMLE would have immediately acknowledged the flaw in her attempt to limit Dumbledore's interference. The simple, vaguely worded oath would not curtail the old wizard's machinations – it left him too many outs.

_I must get to Hogwarts right away._ Albus calculated his next moves even as he hurried towards the lifts. _That damnable oath may prevent ME from pursuing Harry Potter, but I said nothing about asking someone else to do the chasing. Nor does it block me from pursuing the creature inside of the homunculus. There are many in the Order who will do as they're told without asking unanswerable questions._

()()()()

Harry jerked and looked up even as a rush of sound, like the rumble of an oncoming avalanche, momentarily drowned out the thunder. A serpentine body of snow and ice coiled skyward, growing thicker and longer as though it was absorbing moisture from the air. At the head, two glowing red eyes, each larger than Harry's torso, glittered like living rubies. The ice dragon roared again, revealing spear-like teeth in a maw large enough to swallow a man whole.

Summer turned to instant winter when an arctic blanket covered the ground below. Lightning stabbed down from the sky to meet Hitsugaya's blade.

Layer upon layer of clouds filled the airspace, blotting out what little waning sunlight might have filtered through a thinner covering. Darkness descended with preternatural speed, broken only by staggered bursts of silver, blue and green electricity.

Seeking to cancel what she surely thought was a weather-related spell, a female auror stabbed her wand skyward and cried out, "Meteolojinx recanto!"

Other than the witch herself hesitating in surprise, her spell had no other appreciable effect. That one effect, however, proved costly for the scarlet-robed witch.

Anyone who hesitates in battle is vulnerable and often becomes a casualty. In shortest terms: she who falters, loses.

The crescent blade and chain at the base of Hyorinmaru's hilt flashed across the distance. The prehensile attachment snared her broom before the startled witch could evade it. A rush of sub-zero air raced down the links. Everything from the foremost point of the shaft to the first two inches of walnut bristles – including the auror's nether regions – froze inside of a jagged, blue-white block of polar ice. Between Hitsugaya's command of the chain and the added weight, the witch lost control and slammed into a partially eroded hillside. The impact resulted in the auror buried up to her chest in broom fragments, loose earth and bone-chilling ice and snow.

Her remaining four squad mates slowed just enough to confirm her non-life-threatening injuries before resuming the chase with increased tenacity.

The quartet closed their formation, sacrificing maneuverability for defensibility. While the outside fliers provided their strongest shields, the inside pair used dozens of heat- and fire-based spells to combat the debilitating cold. Beleaguered and pressed, at one point Hyorinmaru had both shielders and firecasters on the defensive, unable to craft even one spell that might remove Toshiro from the fight or disable Harry's broom. The few times the fire spells came close to their companions, the crimson robes provided some protection.

For his part, Harry found it almost impossible to focus completely on flying. He looked back time and again, gawking at the sheer magnitude of the smaller boy's powers. Nothing the aurors did came close to hurting the enormous dragon construct that hovered and flew above them. Their strongest bludgeoning hex punched through foot-thick ice scales the size of medieval shields and created a pit larger than a bus. New scales filled the gouge before the dislodged bits reached the ground.

Sheet lightning skittered across the cloud bottoms, close enough to raise static all over Harry's body. The young wizard flinched but held to his course, trusting his friend to know best.

_If this snowstorm was natural, none of us could stay airborne,_ Harry reckoned in amazement._ He's directing everything!_

One of the earliest lessons taught in the Shin'o Academy was: if an enemy is stupid enough to take himself out of the fight, by all means let him do so. Understandably enough, the concept was most often taken as a joke. A rare few saw beyond the dry humor to its true value. Shinigami, even uncommon protégés like Toshiro Hitsugaya, did not rise to a captaincy without learning to appreciate the tactic.

Implementing it in real-life situations was never easy, but on those rare occasions where circumstances allowed, no other methodology worked half so well.

A pitiless smile on his face, Toshiro initiated a deliberate sequence of attacks, their timing and strength carefully controlled. It wasn't long before all offensive and defensive actions assumed a predictable rhythm. The roaring ice dragon would circle twice, blowing an endless volley of ice daggers that melted before a wizard's fire spell. Cold winds and micro-storms would rush in and attempt to unseat a rider, only to be blocked by a wizard's protective shield.

Following a counterclockwise design, Hitsugaya waited until his enemies reacted to the pattern rather than to the attacks themselves. The shinigami's eyes – now an electric blue overflowing with reiatsu – sparked. The right-side firecaster produced an incendio, expecting to melt an incoming broadside. Toshiro cancelled the attack and, instead, gave the right-side shielder a potent tailwind. The result: the shielder's broom shot forward, directly into his partner's line-of-fire. The flame spell incinerated the bristles, scorched the flier's protective scarlet cloak, and dropped the unfortunate auror straight into a snowdrift – conveniently placed, courtesy of Toshiro Hitsugaya.

"Expelliarmus!"

A jet of scarlet light flew from the nearest auror's wand. Even before Toshiro's mind registered the familiarity of the spell, the crescent moon and chain wrapped three circles around Hitsugaya's waist, and both hands tightened on his zanpakuto's hilt. The disarming spell slammed into the blade and attempted to wrench the weapon from its wielder's hands.

Toshiro's body seized up. His mind flew back to a London street, to when he'd seen an identical red light.

_Something hit me on the chest. Pulling. Taking. Hyorinmaru – gone. Snatched away. Darkness. Hurting ... touching. Alone. Pain._

_No! Nonononono not again!_

His scream carried over every other sound, magnified by an undercurrent of fury and terror. "I won't let you take Hyorinmaru from me _EVER AGAIN! I WILL KILL ANYONE WHO TRIES!_"

The storm intensified beyond any force normal to nature. An overwhelming mass of uncontrolled spiritual pressure slammed down. Gravity multiplied ten-fold.

The air stuttered, passing before Harry's eyes like a jerky movie reel. A subliminal rumble, too low to actually hear but detectible in the bones behind his ears, drowned out all other sounds, even the ice dragon's roars. Harry lurched left and right, barely holding onto his broom. The overwhelming pressure forced both Harry and their pursuers to fly lower and slower. It felt like he was trying to fly through thick porridge.

The wizard teen was struck with a strong sense of déjà vu but could not recall any memory to match it.

_It must have been that day, during the battle at Hogwarts!_ Harry realized._ The day they rescued Toshiro. Such an insane feeling of raw power. How many times did I experience it but just can't remember? Going by the amount of damage I recall to the school and grounds, the fighting had to have gone on for ages. Toshiro's friends had to have used their powers dozens of times. Were those memories among the ones they didn't let me keep?_

Harry struggled to glance over his shoulder at his friend to make sure he was alright. Toshiro glowed an electric blue from head to foot. His messy shock of white hair stood straight up on the top of his head like a crown of icicles. Frenzied energy pulsed in all directions on waves of fear and rage.

Despite the dangers of so much unchecked power, Harry was strangely unafraid. As cold as he felt, he wasn't experiencing even a tenth of the full effect. Despite Toshiro's roiling emotions, the white-haired boy retained enough control to shield Harry from the worst of both weather and pressure, extending his glowing blue reiatsu to encompass not only himself but Harry and their broom, as well.

The remaining aurors, who had no such protections against runaway spiritual pressure, found themselves doing good just to remain conscious as they hunched forward over their brooms, barely staying in the air.

"Enough of this," Hitsugaya shouted fiercely. "I'm tired of being hunted and hounded across this _Kami_-forsaken island! It ends here!"

Hitsugaya held Hyorinmaru in a two-handed grip and raised the blade high.

Hyorinmaru's most basic ability, the _tenso jurin_, did not require a verbal chant the way the other effects did. In simplest terms, _tenso jurin_ was an instinctive control of the weather in his immediate vicinity, or more specifically, the water in the surrounding atmosphere. Through Hyorinmaru, Toshiro could mold this moisture into any related form, be it related to weather, attack or defense. The greater the amount of moisture, the grander the result. Adding the blizzard he'd already created to the natural moisture from the prior storm system, he currently had enough fuel for a truly spectacular display.

A nearly blinding aura bathed the world in a pure, blue-white light. The glow grew brighter and brighter, a silver-blue radiance nestled beneath onyx storm clouds. The thunder-blizzard, raging one step inside of his control, fell apart. Moisture flowed away from the processes needed to sustain the gale as it was being drawn into Toshiro's ice dragon. Without energy, the storm collapsed.

A sound – first a groan then a yell then a vengeful, anguished roar – cut through the blizzard's dying din. With a final bellow of released emotion and power, Toshiro Hitsugaya slashed the air in a downwards diagonal slice. Reiatsu, gathered along the cutting edge, created a wave of ice some seventy feet tall, fifty across and ninety long. The tsunami swept over the final three aurors, encasing them within its frozen center. The surge plowed through everything in its path before ending with twenty feet of its final length buried deep in a rocky knoll.

Potter pulled his Firebolt around, stared at the land-locked iceberg and gasped, "You froze them!"

"They'll thaw." Toshiro said with no trace of remorse. Breathing hard, he gave the battlefield – strewn at least a mile or more behind them – a final look and said, "Let's get to the park and open the gate before anyone else finds us."

After the running, chaotic battle, the sudden lack of either spell fire or zanpakuto effects left Harry Potter stunned and uncertain. Toshiro Hitsugaya, on the other hand, had fought too many times to let the post-combat plunge affect his responses. With a mental, fervent thank you to Hyorinmaru, he sealed the zanpakuto's powers once more, sheathed the blade, and sat on the broom behind Harry.

"How far are we from the park now?" he asked calmly, as though creating land-bound icebergs to end a battle were as normal as tea and crumpets.

Gasping, his body shaking hard enough to threaten his seat on the broom, Harry slowed the Firebolt to slightly more than a cruising hover, never more than fifteen feet above the ground. He shivered as much from the shock over the massive scale of Toshiro's attack as it was his body adjusting to the frigid cold as it rapidly faded back to a more normal temperature for an English summer evening.

Rolling hills, hedgerows, hiking and biking trails, tree groves, and water pathways passed below them. Herds of sheep, spooked by both the weather and their sudden appearance, leapt away with frightened bleats. Unable to judge the time by studying the sun, as it was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, Harry looked at his watch. He estimated they had 30 minutes until sunset.

Seeing a rural road, he dropped down long enough to locate a mileage sign. The information only confirmed his estimation of their position.

Harry pointed to the northeast.

"That way. It's a fair distance, even flying straight there. We covered a lot of ground just now, more than I thought. We're almost to Aldershot, a good 25-30 miles from Little Whinging. I don't know what good it's done. They may have some kind of tracking charm on me ... or my broom. If they're close enough, they can just use a simple point-me spell. In any case, they'll likely find us before we get there."

"There really isn't another choice." Hitsugaya said. "Let's head back."

Harry swung the broom around in the desired direction but couldn't resist asking one last time, "Are you sure we can't do it here?"

Toshiro's voice dropped an octave. "Harry."

Stung by the gentle rebuke, Harry twitched and replied, "Just asking. And for the record, I think this is a very bad idea."

"Bad or not," Hitsugaya sighed, "it's the only choice we have. If we run into more wizards, I'll handle them. You concentrate on getting us to that park."

()()()()

The pair landed in the park close to the bench where Daniel and Toshiro had met Harry for the first time since the events at Hogwarts. Due to the late hour and still-lingering heat from the day, no one saw their arrival. The summer heat Harry now felt only added to the surreal feeling he was having, after leaving behind the impromptu arctic landscape.

Unknown to either fugitive, their return to Little Whinging carried them clear of Director Bones' woven web. She'd positioned her teams on the assumption that Harry and Toshiro intended to _escape_ the town rather than circle back _to_ it. By the time the aurors closed their trap, their intended prey had slipped through their net.

As soon as they were off the broom, Harry asked, "What you did back there. With the ice dragon. What was it? How did you manage a spell that powerful?"

"It's a shinigami ability called shikai. In English, it would be 'release.' Each zanpakuto has its own personality, its own consciousness, with special abilities unique to each reaper. Mine is control of all things water and ice." Seeing Harry about to voice yet another question, Toshiro held up a hand and said, "I know you want to know more, but now isn't the time. We need to summon the gate and get you out of here. We'll answer all of your questions as soon as you're safe."

Harry knew he was right but found it hard to wrap his head around everything he had seen and experienced. It was even harder to put a hold on his many questions crowding his mind.

As the adrenaline from two narrow escapes flowed away, Harry's insecurities returned tenfold. He sat down on the bench, leaned the Firebolt against his thigh, and dropped the carryall to the ground.

_Toshiro and his friends really are in a whole separate class from wizards. What do I have to offer them for their going to so much trouble to help me?_

"Are you really sure it's alright for me to go? I won't cause anyone problems?" Harry asked, hesitantly.

The short shinigami gave him a measured look then said, "Hear for yourself." Toshiro sat beside him and called Avalon, putting the call on the reaper version of "speaker phone."

_"Toshiro, repeated calls won't make things go any faster,"_ Daniel said in exasperation. _"We're almost ready."_

"I know," Toshiro replied. "Our young friend needs some reassurance. He's worried that he will not be welcome."

Daniel paused for a moment before responding gently,_ "Ahhh. One second."_

It actually took ten seconds before a new voice, lightly French in accent, said, _"Mr. Potter, I am Field Marshal de Tournay. I command all of Avalon. This includes every reaper, knight, and officer. In our chain of command, no head is higher than mine. When I say that you are welcome here, there can be no question. You are free to stay in Avalon as long as necessary."_ The old man's voice took on a merry lilt. _"Yes, the timing of your arrival could have been better, but no one has any control over that."_

_"Harry, everything will be fine,"_ Daniel Gilbreathe added his own bit of encouragement. _"We're doing everything we can on our end to open the gate safely. Please. Trust us."_

Harry started, his voice halting and unsure, "I trusted Dumbledore ... not so long ago. I trusted Shacklebolt and Tonks ... until tonight. But – " Harry stared into Toshiro's jewel-bright eyes, searching for ... what? Strength? Reassurance? Confirmation? "I trust Toshiro. I know what wizards did to him, yet he still risked everything to help _me_, a wizard. If he says I should go, that's what I'll do."

"You'll be both safe and welcome in Avalon," Toshiro Hitsugaya said. "You have my word."

Harry smiled and nodded, accepting the reassurance he found in the boy's eyes. Toshiro understood his problems with trust issues, probably because he shared many of the same misgivings. He could have easily brushed away Harry's concerns or even mocked his weakness. Instead, Toshiro did what he could to assuage Harry's fears.

_"Captain Hitsugaya, we will call as soon as the gate is ready. Stand by."_

"Understood."

Toshiro slipped the sleek communications device into an inner pocket of his white haori and settled back on the bench to wait.

As the silence lengthened and the wind increased, Harry finally gathered the nerve to ask, "So. What can I expect? With the gate, I mean. Is it like stepping from one room to another, or is there more to it?"

"Much more." Since they were waiting for the Avalonian reapers to ready the gate for them, Toshiro decided to explain a few things to the young wizard. "Shinigami, or what this region calls grim reapers, have a 'short cut' that allows them to bypass the Dangai and enter Avalon directly."

"Dangai?" Harry's British accent mangled the unfamiliar word.

"It means Precipice World. It's a dimension that separates the Land of the Living from the afterlife." Toshiro explained patiently.

"You mean I'm going to DIE?" Harry cried. "Why didn't anyone tell me that was part of the deal!"

Toshiro scowled. "No. That is the whole reason Avalon is calculating a special gate just for you, so that you WON'T die."

"Ah." Harry slumped in relief. "Okay. Just checking."

"May I continue?" the small shinigami captain asked, his tone dry as a desert.

Harry's cheeks reddened. "Please. Yes."

Toshiro pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed and picked up where he'd left off. "I won't go into the history of the Dangai. You can learn that later, when you have leisure time. Though it has other purposes, the Dangai is primarily a defense against unwanted intruders. It isolates and protects the Seven Heavens, which includes Avalon, from discovery and invasion. Time moves at a 2000-to-1 ratio, meaning that for every hour that passes in the Dangai, 2000 hours pass here."

Harry did some quick mental calculations and blurted out, "That's almost _three months!_"

"A good reason to hurry," Toshiro urged bluntly. "There are defenses in place to prevent anyone from taking advantage of the time differential. Under normal circumstances, with enough time to carefully prepare the Dangai and install safeguards, it would be a leisurely walk. Unfortunately, this trip we won't have those safeguards. It will be best if we don't stay in the Precipice World any longer than necessary. The instant the gate opens and you step through, start running and don't stop until you exit the far side."

"Gate opens. Run like hell. Got it," Harry recited. "What then?"

"After that, we can rest," Hitsugaya said with absolute certainty. "You'll be safe in Camelot, the reaper headquarters inside Avalon."

Harry took in a deep breath, feeling a bit better after his new friend had shared his advice. He looked around the deserted park. Timewise, Harry's watch read 9:15 PM. Though it was still five minutes shy of true sunset, it might as well have been midnight. Heavy cloud cover blocked what little light would have lingered. Despite the street lamps and park lights, heavy shadows clung to every surface. The air hung humid and heavy as the overcast sky pressed down.

In the distance but edging closer, the storm generated by Toshiro roiled low to the ground, gaining strength from the instability of hot and cold temperatures clashing together.

"How long?" Harry asked.

Toshiro sighed. "A few more minutes, I expect."

"A lot can happen in a few minutes." Harry scanned the area, just in case, his eyes peeled for any incoming wizards by broomstick.

"They haven't found us yet. Perhaps they won't."

Harry glared and gesticulated. "Damn it, Toshiro. You just had to say it."

The shinigami stared at the mortal boy seated beside him on the park bench. "Say what?"

"You jinxed us!"

"Jinx?" Hitsugaya huffed and rolled his eyes. "Not this again. Where I lived as a child, I was called a jinx or a freak. Nothing ever happened. There's no such thing – "

"In the magical world, there damn well _IS!_" Harry exclaimed with a wild gesticulation of his arms. "And you just called the mother of all jinxes down on our heads."

"May-"

Harry wagged both hands in the air. "AT-AT! NO! Don't say it again. Not again."

Hitsugaya studied his overwrought companion through narrowed eyes and muttered, _"Baka."_

Harry stared up at the tumultuous sky and hissed, "Oh Sweet Merlin, not now!"

Hand on Hyorinmaru's hilt, Toshiro tensed and looked around, expecting to see yet another flight of wizards on broomsticks. "What's wrong?"

Harry jabbed a stiff finger to the sky at the exact instant jagged bolts of lightning crisscrossed overhead. "That. All we need is a blinding downpour." The bottom fell out of the heavens, drenching them in a deluge of biblical proportions. "Just like this one."

Toshiro gave Harry a funny look and said, "Now who's jinxed us?" He pulled out his soul phone and connected once more with Avalon. "Daniel_-san_. The weather's turning bad. I could disperse the storm, but that would require going shikai again. I'd rather not do that if I can avoid it. Visibility is less than three meters. We won't be able to see anyone approaching until they're standing on our shoulders. "

Harry leaned over so that his voice would carry into the receiver. "Not to mention, we're SOAKED!"

Gilbreathe responded with light laughter. _"I agree, that doesn't sound very comfortable. Just a few minutes more. Hold on."_

Harry saved his carryall from a growing puddle and tried to make light of their discomfort. "I feel like we're in an episode of that American telly show, where the captain tells his engineer to beam him up ahead of an angry mob, but the teleport-machine is always broken."

Harry looked at Toshiro, expecting a responding smile. Instead, Hitsugaya focused on something beyond the curtain of rain. After a moment, Toshiro rose off the bench and casually turned to face the street, reaching for his sword. He held Hyorinmaru's sheath in his left hand, right hand positioned to draw the blade.

He muttered low under his breath, "Don't they ever give up?"

Three figures approached through the downpour. As they passed through the cone of light from a nearby street lamp, Harry saw three figures wearing dark robes and sinister masks.

"Get down!" Harry hissed and yanked his companion deep into the nearby bushes. "Those wizards aren't Dumbledore's _or_ the aurors. They're _Death Eaters!"_ At Toshiro's questioning look, Harry added, "Voldemort's followers. The baddest of the bad."

"All of them?" Toshiro asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow and used the one reference Toshiro would recognize. "Snape was a Death Eater."

Hitsugaya's expression proved that he understood the danger. Before he could say anything, however, blinding pain spiked through Harry's lightning bolt scar. The young wizard hissed, lurched forward, and grabbed his forehead.

"What is it?" Toshiro whispered urgently, his hand on his shoulder. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry stared into the reaper's striking eyes, his own expression rigid with despair. "He's here."

"Who? Who is here?"

"Voldemort. He's here. Close. Very close."

()()()()

()()()()

(1) _yarou_ – a crude term meaning anything from rascal or jerk to bastard. Here I'm using the latter.

_(2) Chikusho _- mild expletive similar to "oh shit" or "damn it."

(3) _"Soten ni zase!"_ – Sit upon the frosted heavens. Or, as translated by Viz, reign over the frosted heavens.

**A/N #1:** Do you know how many times I started to write "chakra" instead of "reiatsu" in this chapter?!

**A/N #2:** I apologize if I made mistakes in the distances, descriptions and terrain. I used googled images, maps, and other internet sources for reference.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! Health and warm wishes. I wish you all a bright and prosperous 2014!


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